Gypsy Dreams
by seditionary
Summary: Morgan's having startlingly vivid dreams which force him to confront his repressed attraction to Spencer Reid. Dream world is AU, and is intertwined with a BAU storyline. Please see each chapter for content warnings.
1. Gypsy Dream

**A/N: Oh, boy. What to say about this one... This is a story about an ongoing dream Morgan has which is intertwined with his reality. Warning: The dream sequence will contain a fairly graphic sex scene and, also, Spencer's under age in it. Just to be clear, the dream part is super AU (as dreams tend to be) and our boys are no doubt out of character. If you make it to the end, you'll find them back in their normal BAU world, and future chapters (if this is worth continuing) will go back and forth between the two worlds.**

**I'm purposely being non-specific about the dream time period, but I'd say it's late 1890's. **

**Hope you like it.**

**Seds**

* * *

_"People think dreams aren't real just because they aren't made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes." _  
—Neil Gaiman

* * *

It was a late summer afternoon. The air was warm and thick in the town of Camden, Virginia, several miles outside of Monroe.

In honor of the good luck he'd had at poker the night before, Derek Morgan was sporting the sharp new suit he'd bought with his winnings. It had rained earlier, and as he sauntered along the cobblestone street toward his hotel room, he raised his eyes to the darkened sky, and in spite of the gloomy weather, a slight smile played across his face. He had money in his pocket and a train ticket to New York City.

He felt good. Things were looking up; he'd be back in civilization in no time.

* * *

The boy was loitering by a food cart.

He watched the dark-skinned man approach; his gaze lingered as he passed. Oh, he was handsome—a tall man, making long strides with a confident step, muscles flexing under his perfectly tailored attire. Rich brown skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that begged to be licked away...

The boy considered for a moment, then scampered around a building and gained the advantage over Derek in the sparse afternoon crowd. He timed it so that he was walking a few paces in front of the well-dressed man. He carefully chose a large puddle and slapped his boot into it, sending a small shower of dirty water backward onto Derek's new trouser cuffs and freshly-shined shoes. Stunned, Derek stopped in his tracks and stared disbelievingly down at the mess.

"Aw, hell. _Shit._ Hey, now..." Surely it hadn't been a deliberate act, but... He looked up from the ugly droplets marring his gleaming shoe leather to the slight figure disappearing into an oncoming throng of people. Nah, he thought, that was ridiculous—just a careless kid. Oh, well, nothing a bit of laundering and a good buffing couldn't cure. But damn, what a pain in the ass, when all he wanted was a hot bath and a good meal. He irritably shook his head and picked up his stride again.

He hurried along the boulevard and became engrossed in thought. Suddenly, a now familiar figure materialized ahead of him. He didn't have time to notice another puddle nestled among the stones before a shower of muddy wetness splashed him below the knee. His eyes narrowed and his mouth curled into a snarl.

"Hey, youngster—you need to watch what you're doing!" This time he didn't stop to examine the damage, in fact, he sped up—and, either coincidentally or instinctively, the young man did too—and now Derek was fairly running to catch up to him. The lad was wearing a battered black top hat, a tailored green crushed-velvet jacket and pinstriped trousers. His hair flew out behind him in a tangle of honey-colored waves. When Derek finally overtook him, he clamped a large hand onto his shoulder and spun the boy around.

The kid looked shocked, his face full of bewildered, wide-eyed innocence. _"Pardon, monsieur? Excusez-moi?"_

"You got me wet there, kid." Derek pointed to the splashes on his legs, the droplets on his shoes. "You need to watch what you're doing."

_"Non, non._ It was not me. You are... crazy?" The boy spoke with a thick French accent and made a swirling gesture around one ear.

Derek pursed his lips. "I'm not the crazy one. Look, be on your way, but try not to be so careless, all right?"

The boy shrugged, and casually pulled a kerchief from his pocket. He squatted down and began "shining" Derek's shoes, much to his annoyance. He glanced around, embarrassed, and tried to pull away, but the boy had one ankle in a surprisingly strong grip, and Morgan grunted in consternation. "Hey! Hey, now, that's not necessary! Stop, just—leave me alone, will you?" He gave his foot a good yank and freed himself, then smoothed down his jacket in a vain attempt to regain his dignity.

The boy gazed up at him, concern awash in his huge, long-lashed brown eyes. He spread his hands apart appealingly. "I help. Is not good?"

"No, it's _not_ good! Just—run along now, all right? Jeeze."

The boy gave him a look of profound hurt and betrayal, then slowly rose to his feet and turned away, head bowed, shoulders slumped. He trudged forward a few steps.

Then, he splashed a puddle back onto Derek.

"Hey! Damn it, boy!" Furious, Derek reached for him. Oh, if he got his hands on the skinny little bastard, he'd... "You need to be taught some manners!" The tips of his fingers skimmed the soft fabric of the boy's coat, but, at the last possible second the youth turned and easily skipped just out of reach, and damned if he wan't laughing. His eyes were lit with mischief and a most beautiful grin transformed his previously serious face, revealing gleaming white teeth surrounded by full, delicious-looking lips.

Now, Derek Morgan was a ladies' man. He was known in gambling houses up and down the Mississippi for his skill at unbuttoning a well-filled bodice and shimmying silky panties down over slim eagerly-parted legs, but it was a fact that, on occasion, he'd been inclined to take a bit of comfort in the arms of a certain sort of young man, as well.

But, no one, male or female, had ever struck him right in the crotch the way this boy did.

It was the smile that stilled Derek's steps, and the kid took the opportunity to skitter off, long gawky limbs seeming to move completely out of tandem with one another, but he was lightning-fast nonetheless. Derek went after him and after two more blocks, the boy stopped, dramatically supporting himself with his forehead buried in the crook of his arm against a building, gasping as if desperate for breath. Derek caught up to him, grasped him by the shoulder, whirled him around and pinned him to the wall. He raised a fist threateningly and looked into the boy's eyes.

"You goddamn little brat, I ought to—"

Those eyes widened in apparent terror, and he struggled frantically to twist out of Derek's grip, but the muscular man held him securely. Derek hissed, "Ease up, junior. I'm not going to hurt you. But, damn it, boy, you—"

_You took my breath away._

The thought remained unexpressed as Derek sought to maintain a suitably menacing countenance while at the same time assuring the lad that he wasn't about to experience a deservedly sound thrashing.

The boy had been panting as if his lungs were ready to burst, but suddenly his breathing returned to normal and Derek stared into what two seconds ago he would have sworn were two immensely frightened eyes. Now, those eyes were not only laughing at him, but it felt as if they were penetrating his soul. Derek felt something come over him, something he had no name for. The boy took an exaggeratedly deep breath, straightened, and casually brushed some unseen lint off his lapel. Derek could hardly believe it when the boy asked, _"Monsieur—_you are hungry?"

_"What?"_

"Ah,_ oui,_ you are hungry. I know. Come—I take you to place with delicious food. _C'est magnifique_. It will be, how you say? My treat—to make up for mess." He tsk'ed disapprovingly and gestured at Derek's pants, then tugged at Derek's arm, obviously confident that his offer would be accepted. Derek found himself being pulled along.

"Oh. Well... Okay. But—why? Why did you—" Before he could finish his question, the boy scampered ahead, turned and motioned for Derek to follow him. A number of unsavory motives ran through Derek's mind—ambush, robbery, being lured into the hands of murderers hidden in wait—but somehow he didn't care. He followed like a goddamned Pied Piper as the boy led him down a dirt road to a clearing in the woods just outside of town to what appeared to be a gypsy camp. Food was cooking, and the aroma was intoxicatingly wonderful, reminding Derek of just how empty his stomach was.

Several brightly painted horse-drawn travel wagons were grouped in a circle. The boy led Derek to one and he opened a weather-beaten wooden door. Inside, tattered burgundy and gold velvet draperies and faded quilts were hung over windows and served as insulation on the walls. The boy smiled at Derek and shyly spread his hands wide apart. "Bienvenue—welcome to my home."

Derek looked around the small space. "You're a gypsy?"

The boy frowned for a moment, silently mouthing the apparently unfamiliar term. "Eh—'gypsy?'" (He pronounced it 'gzeep-zee.') Then, he brightened. "Ah, oui! Yes. I am gypsy. And... I bothered you because I like you. I like... the way you walk. Such a man. I like... Your mouth. _Oui, votre bouche, monsieur,_ she is _tres jolie..."_ He put his arms around Derek's neck and kissed his lips firmly. Stunned, Derek stood motionless for a moment then peered into the boy's eyes.

"You a whore, son?"

The boy's eyes widened, then turned dark. _"Un prostitue? Mais, non_... such a thing to say. _Non!_ I like you, that is all." He turned away, wrapping his arms around himself, clearly wounded. Then he turned back. "If that is what you think of me, monsieur, perhaps you should go. I am sorry for your clothes. _Je regrette._ I will pay for the cleaning of them." He took a drawstring bag out of his pocket and pulled it open. He counted out some coins, then held them out to Derek, who sneered irritably at them.

"I don't want your money! I just—I don't get you, kid. What the hell do you want from me?"

The boy bit his lip. "I only want kiss. And, to give food." His hurt expression fell away and he brightened. "I bring?"

Derek took a deep breath, utterly discombobulated. The kid was so _strange_, but so damned appealing. And, he'd been promised food, and he was hungry, so...

"Well... All right. That would be nice."

The boy's smile widened, and he ran outside, returning with two tin plates piled high with chicken and potatoes in some kind of aromatic sauce, with a thick slice of fresh bread on top. He gave a plate to Derek, then they made a place for themselves on the floor and ate with their hands, sopping up the gravy with the bread.

"Stuff's hot!" Derek commented, mouth full.

"Hot? Oh, oui, yes. Gypsy food—the spice, she ignites the blood—to make one ready for love." The boy raised an eyebrow and gave a naughty grin that belied his age. Derek decided he'd better concentrate on his food, and not on how the boy's skin seemed to glow in the waning light, or how it looked like a sensuous act when his pink tongue came out to lick dripping gravy from his fingers.

After they finished, the boy took their plates and set them outside on the steps. He then pumped some water from a crock onto a cloth and knelt beside Derek. He took one of his hands in his and used the cloth to carefully clean Derek's fingers. He moved to Derek's other hand, then wiped his own. He dabbed at his mouth and then impulsively leaned over and licked a small speck of food from the corner of Derek's mouth and smiled. He didn't give Derek a chance to react before he kissed him again, his full lips lightly skimming Derek's spice-enflamed ones.

This time, Derek leaned into the kiss. The boy's mouth was warm and wet, with a cool little tongue that somehow slipped between his own lips to teasingly explore. It eased the burn, while at the same time hitting nerve endings that sent urgent messages down to Derek's cock. Derek slipped a hand around the boy's slim waist and pulled him closer—he wriggled into Derek's lap. He fit into all the hollow spaces, and he tasted sweet.

He trailed a finger over Derek's cheek, down to his neck and chest. "You wish to make love with me?" he asked hopefully. Derek looked at the boy's face. He looked so young, so achingly young.

"How old are you?" he whispered.

"Oh, I am not little boy." The kid shook his head emphatically and straddled Derek's lap, leaning back far enough that he could open the buttons of his trousers. He pushed the fabric down low so that Derek could see the curly blondish-brown thatch of hair impudently peeking out. He looked at Derek and pointed down at himself. "You see? I am man. Like you!" He laughed and Derek laughed, too.

"A man, huh? I don't think so. But, old enough, I guess. Okay, kid, let's... make love." Eagerly, fluidly, the boy stood up, then took Derek's wrists and pulled. Keeping one in his grip he led him to a heavy curtain strung up with rope and pushed it aside. Behind it was a bed with a fluffy feather mattress. He patted it, then pulled the curtain closed, making a tiny private room for them. The boy lit a small oil lamp that was fastened to the wall above the bed and it cast a warm yellow glow over the snug space. He began to take off his clothes, revealing a skinny, boyish body, then he turned to smile at Derek and gestured for him to strip too.

When the boy was naked, he pulled back the covers and crawled onto the mattress. Derek quickly joined him and took the boy in his arms. He smelled of spices, fresh sweat... and rain. They melted together, warm velvety skin snug against skin, safe under the covers. The boy wriggled against him, kissing him happily. He took Derek's swollen, pulsing cock in his hand, then pushed back the blanket to give it a closer examination. He gaped and gave a low whistle of admiration.

"Oh, monsieur, you are so big! _Mon Dieu. Votre penis—il est enorme!_ Never have I seen such a one in all my life. And, the testicles—so heavy—like, how you say? Ostrich eggs. Oh, _mais non, c'est imposible!"_ The boy was laughing with delight as he cupped and rolled them in his hand.

Derek laughed, too. He stroked the boy's bony back and admired his slender cock, a velvety, pink-tipped thing. It curved back, quivering, until the head almost touched the boy's flat little belly. Derek reached for it and squeezed; he enjoyed making him gasp as he rubbed his thumb in the already leaking slit. He looked at the youth's face, yearning evident in his luminous eyes.

"You're beautiful, kid."

The boy crawled on top of Derek, kissed his mouth, then slid lower, attending to his nipples, his belly, until he was on Derek's cock, licking, nipping. He suddenly looked up, his brow knit as though he were struggling with a particularly knotty problem. Derek frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, monsieur—I so wish to give you the—how you call it? Ah, yes, the 'blow job,'_ mais... j'ai peur qu'il n'ira pas."_ He shook his head sorrowfully.

"Huh? I don't understand..."

"Ah... " The boy swirled a finger around the thick girth of Derek's cock then pointed to his mouth with a comical expression of grave concern. He stage-whispered,_ "I think it not fit."_

Derek burst out laughing and caressed the boy's delicate face. He took his chin in his hand and moved it from side to side, jokingly studying his wide mouth and full lips. "I don't know, kid, that pretty mouth looks like it was made for it. Why not give it a try, and let's see?"

Thus encouraged, the boy set to the task. He tentatively took the head past his lips, and slipped his tongue all around the velvety circumference, making Derek moan. He inched him in a little deeper, holding the base of the heavy member at an angle, then pulled back and gave it a skeptical look. Derek tangled his fingers into the boy's hair and gently guided him back down, and he gave it another try. This time, damned if he didn't take in all but a couple of inches down his throat. Morgan hummed appreciatively.

"That's the way, boy. Keep going. I don't think you're gonna have any problem whatsoever."

The boy moved his head back and plunged down again. He did that a few times, then concentrated on just sucking the first few inches and playing with his balls, but he stopped when Derek strained too hard, got too close.

_"Non, s'il vous plait_—you will come inside of me? Yes?"

Derek groaned. The thought of entering the boy made his balls feel as if they were going to explode. "Hell, yeah... got some oil or something?"

The boy wiggled over Derek, reached below the bed and brought out a small ceramic pot. He pulled out the cork and smeared a glob of some kind of slippery goo on Derek's cock. He spread it evenly over the thick length, smiling at the task. When Derek was well slicked up, the boy rolled over onto his stomach and parted his legs. He reached behind himself and used the remaining slick to coat his snug entrance. He looked over his shoulder, making sure that Derek was watching as he invitingly nudged a fingertip at the crinkled little hole, spreading it open ever so slightly.

"You can prepare me for the sex? Please, monsieur?"

Derek nodded, salivating. If the kid was worried that he wouldn't fit in his mouth, he ought to be terrified of having his dick go into his ass, but that sweet hole was plainly in need of a good fuck. He gently slid a finger into the boy. He briefly wondered if this was new to the kid, but the desperate, joyous thrusts against his hand told him otherwise. He gently, gently worked at the tightness, amazed at the slick heat, until he felt the boy give, open up, then he got on his knees, spread apart the creamy round cheeks and slid the head of his cock into the eager, pink little hole.

He heard the boy groan deeply, felt him spread his legs wider, raise his butt higher, welcoming him in while pushing back against Derek's first controlled thrust. "Oh, monsieur... So good. You, your manhood—so big, I think you split me in two, non? Please—to go further? How you say—all the way?"

"Yeah, baby—my pleasure." Derek slid in deeper, until his pubic bone was pressed firmly against the cushion of the boy's soft bottom, leaving him whimpering and whining, wordlessly pleading. Derek pulled back, then thrust in again, a little harder and deeper this time. He gave the boy a chance to get used to his girth being inside of him, then began fucking him in earnest. The boy moaned and murmured in French, then reached for Derek's hand, clutching it to him as if seeking comfort. Derek whispered, "You okay, kid?" and heard a broken, _"Oui, oui. Si'l te plait, monsieur—baise-moi plus fort..."_

"Huh? What? I don't understand that talk."

"Please, monsieur—the fucking—make it harder!"

That, Derek understood. He redoubled his efforts and thrust with deeper, harder strokes into the tender channel. Soon, the boy's entire body shuddered and seized; he cried out, _"Mon Dieu!"_ and Derek felt proud, knowing he'd made him come.

Now, Derek could concentrate on his own pleasure, and he quickly lost himself to driving in and out of the snug velvety-slick passage, reveling in the heat of the boy's willingly-given body. He clutched the thin hips tightly, pulling and shifting him as he needed, as he desired, and the boy just moved with him, moaned and made soft noises, offering himself, loving it.

Derek's efforts soon rewarded him with sweet release, and he spurted thick ropes of come deep within the boy. He collapsed on top of him, letting the heat dissipate with his slowing heartbeat, and then he rolled off and pulled the youth around to face him. They wriggled into a twisted bundle, amazed, panting, smiling at each other. Derek gasped, "Tell me your name, kid."

"I am Spencer. And, you are?"

"Derek."

"Derek. De-rek." The kid said it with satisfaction, as if it were a coin he could hold in his hand. He burrowed into Derek with a sigh and before he knew it, the kid was sound asleep. Derek chuckled. He was warm, his skin soft, and his hair ruffled when Derek exhaled onto him. His gentle breathing was a rhythmic lullaby, and soon, Derek joined him in slumber.

* * *

Morgan stood in front of the BAU coffee machine, irritably trying to work a kink out of his neck as he waited for the pot to finish its brew cycle. Hell, he didn't know how much more coffee he could take without developing a case of the shakes, but he needed at least one more dose of caffeine to approximate being awake.

He hated nights like the one he'd just had; too much stress, not enough sleep. Even an extra long morning run hadn't helped to restore his energy; he felt wrung out, like he was moving through mud. Plus, the unrelenting glare of the overhead fluorescent lights made his eyeballs hurt, and he wondered what the hell he'd done to make his back ache like a son-of-a-bitch.

"Wow." Spencer Reid walked in and joined him, empty coffee cup in hand. "That's, what, like your third cup? You're getting to be as bad as I am."

Morgan huffed a bit, then tiredly exhaled. "I think I've still got a long way to go before I'm as bad about coffee as you are, but yeah." He shrugged. "Rough night."

"Oh? Who is she?" Reid grinned as he poured his cup full of the thick grog.

"Ha ha. Nothing like that. I just... Man, I had some weird dreams."

"Ah." Reid finished doctoring his coffee and turned to lean against the break room counter, blowing at his drink to cool it. "Work stuff?"

"No, not exactly. It was kind of... Old-timey. And, you were there."

Reid raised his eyebrows. "Me? Great. What happened, did I get shot with a musket gun?"

"No, no, you were... You kept pulling some stupid practical joke on me, and when I got mad, you offered me some food. And, you spoke French." Morgan sure as hell wasn't going to offer any further details, especially not about Reid's age in the dream and absolutely nothing about the sexy parts, but he was curious to see if Reid could shed some light on the symbology behind his dream.

Reid's brow was now knit in thought. "Well, that doesn't really sound like something I'd do—offering you food, I mean. If I actually managed to get your goat with a practical joke, I'd just enjoy the ride." Reid gave him an impish grin, then went back to thought mode. "So I spoke French in your dream? I do speak French, but I don't believe you've ever heard me do it. That's an intriguing aspect."

They both stood there mulling it over for a moment, and then Reid shrugged and turned to top off his cup. "Well, I've got to get back to work. If I have any insight into your dream, I'll let you know, but it sounds fairly run of the mill to me."

"Mm." Morgan watched him head toward the door, then asked, "Reid?"

He turned. "Yeah?"

"You ever dream about me?"

Reid eyed Morgan narrowly for a moment and then nodded. "Oh, yeah. All the time." Then, he slid one hand under his sweater vest and rapidly moved it up and down, simulating heart palpitations. "You're such a heartthrob, you know." He chuckled at his own humor and left.

Morgan frowned and shook his head. "Great," he thought. "Pretty Boy's got jokes, now." He downed the rest of his coffee and went back to his desk.

* * *

**BTW, sorry about the fractured French. I only took 2 years in high school, which was a looong time ago, and they didn't teach us naughty phrases anyway, so I relied on Google translation. You're welcome to correct me, but I probably won't be inclined to go back and change it.**


	2. The Dream Continues

**A/N: Warnings: Pretty good dream-world smut in this one. Bad language. Accidental voyeurism, then purposeful voyeurism. And, back at the BAU, Morgan decides to talk to Hotch about his dreams. **

**Thanks so much for the warm response to Chapter One, loves!**

**Seds**

* * *

Derek slept warm and content with Spencer nestled snugly in his arms, but eventually the young man twisted away from him and Derek just rolled over and got comfortable on his own. Then, later, Derek woke up shivering. He realized that the steamy heat of the day had given over to a frosty night, and the air in the small travel wagon was icy-cold. Derek pawed around for more covers, but the thin sheet and worn quilt that swathed him and the boy sleeping next to him were all he could find.

He huddled into himself and shut his eyes, hoping to ignore the chill and drift off to sleep again. Perhaps he did, because at some point he felt movement beside him, and he became conscious enough to realize that a warm down comforter was now mysteriously enveloping him and his companion. Spencer was asleep against the wall and for a drowsy moment, Derek wondered how he'd managed to fetch the extra cover without awakening him, but with warmth restored, and with the young man's breathing so even and steady beside him, he eased back into sleep without a second thought.

* * *

In the morning, Derek woke to a warm, curious hand sliding between his thighs. Spencer gently probed, investigating Derek's skin with light touches of his fingertips that sent a shudder of pleasure through the older man. Spencer then picked up Derek's soft cock and cradled it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it in a sure grasp.

Morgan opened his eyes, feeling disoriented, but quickly found himself smiling into Spencer's bright eyes and mischievous grin. The boy continued to squeeze experimentally and he snickered when Derek's member sprung to attention in his grip. Spencer snuggled against him and nuzzled his cold nose into Derek's face, wanting kisses. Derek supplied him with plenty, moving down to suck deeply at the skin on his neck, then his chest, making his claim in red marks as he went.

He gathered the youth as close to him as possible, caressed down his back and then clasped first one, then the other of Spencer's warm, firm cheeks in his hand, making the boy moan and grind his erection against Derek's hip. For a moment they lay there, each thinking of how it had felt the night before when Derek slid inside him, of how Spencer's bare bottom had felt against Derek's skin as the older man rutted into him.

Spencer began to stroke Derek's hardening cock, and before too long, Derek reached for the small ceramic pot and greased up again. He rolled the boy onto his back and then took his mouth in a long, sweet, demanding kiss. Spencer greedily accepted it as he spread his legs wide apart and then wrapped them around Derek's waist, locking his ankles against the small of his back. He undulated, causing his body to spasm upward in a desperate but vain attempt to somehow work Derek's cock into himself.

Derek chuckled. "Mm, poor baby, you need it bad, don't you? Well, so do I. And, I love having those skinny legs wrapped around me like that, but, let's try this instead—" He pulled Spencer's legs high onto his shoulders and then he took his cock in his hand and nudged Spencer's entrance with the leaking tip. "This okay?" he asked, searching Spencer's eyes for consent. Spencer eagerly nodded, and in one fluid movement, Derek drove his cock deeply into the already well-used little hole, meeting no resistance whatsoever as he plunged in.

Spencer groaned as he felt he thick member thoroughly stretch and fill him. He sighed contentedly and wriggled under Derek, pulling at him so he could bury his face in his neck and kiss him as he welcomed the deep, powerful thrusts. A surge of that unnameable feeling Derek had gotten when he'd first encountered the boy came over him; it wasn't just the intense pleasure of having his cock lodged deeply inside his tight, clenching little ass, it was the... the utter joy Spencer seemed to take in being with him, just being with him—a beautiful something no lover of his had ever shown him before.

Derek smiled down at him, and then playfully grabbed the boy's foot and nipped his ankle, making him screech and struggle in delighted protest. Derek laughed; for a moment, he was happier than he'd ever been in his entire life.

Then, Derek heard the wagon door creak open. An irritated male voice snapped,_ "Spencer Reid?_ Are you in here? Where the_ fuck_ is my money?"

Spencer froze for a moment, and then he gave an exasperated huff and rolled his eyes. "Aw, hell. Leave me alone, Hotch! I'm busy fucking my new boyfriend." To Derek's utter bewilderment, the French accent was gone, and Derek wasn't sure if he was more shocked by that or by the fact that the curtain was abruptly shoved aside, sending a cold rush of air over his naked butt, raised as it was in mid-thrust.

He had a moment of acute embarrassment. He'd never been caught in the act of sex before, certainly not with another male, and the realization that a stranger was seeing him with his cock deeply embedded in the youth's bottom, heavy balls dangling, was fairly horrifying to him.

That, combined with the realization that the boy now cheerfully grinning up at him wasn't who he thought he was, caused his brain to short-circuit. He pulled out with a slick pop, fell back against the wall and gaped at the intruder. He managed to notice that he was dressed in a black cutaway coat and riding boots before turning his perplexed gaze back to Spencer. He rasped, "You—_you're not French!"_

Spencer scrunched up his face and shrugged ruefully. "Yeah... Fooled you, huh? I guess my accent was better than I thought. Sorry. But, forget about that, Derek, come on, where were we?" He attempted to pull Derek back on top of him, but Derek held him off, gesturing at the man called Hotch.

"Are you crazy? That guy—"

"Aw, don't mind him. Hotch has caught me_ in flagrante delicto_ before, haven't you, Hotch?"

The man ignored him as he leaned down, his shoulder brushing Derek's foot in the close quarters. He prowled through the boy's clothes until he found the drawstring bag. He held it up accusingly before checking the contents, and then stuck it in his pocket. He shot a nasty glare at Spencer. "You goddamned little thief. Just wait until Gideon gets back. I'll be having a word with him about this." He then sneered as he took in the scene on the disheveled bed and added,_ "All_ of this." He shook his head and left.

Derek stared after the man, then looked back at Spencer. "Who the hell was that?"

"That's Hotch. He runs this crew, well, him and Gideon. He does a little horse trading on the side. He got a good price for a mare yesterday, and left the money out where just anybody could find it; I was keeping it safe for him, that's all." He gestured dismissively and then ran his hands over Derek's chest. "Come on, Derek, forget about him. Let's get back to what we were doing, that was amazing..." He reached for a kiss, but Morgan pushed him back.

"You may find this hard to believe, youngster, but I'm kind of out of the mood by now."

"Aw, come on, haven't you ever had someone walk in on you while you were fucking? Happens all the time around here. No privacy. In fact, I bet the girls are going to be here any minute. They'll want to see your, um, generous assets for themselves."

Derek scowled. "What girls?"

"Penelope, Emily, and JJ."

"And, who are they?"

"Well, they each have a speciality, we all do. Pen does stuff with herbs and potions. Emily tells fortunes, and JJ's a dancer."

"Uh-huh. And, what do you do?" Derek asked skeptically.

"I'm a magician!"

Derek took a long look at the kid's face. Without the wide-eyed innocent appearance he'd been cultivating the night before, he looked a little older. He was gazing intently at Derek, and Derek couldn't help but notice that the sun coming in through a window above the bed cast gold over the boy's pale skin, picking up reddish-blond highlights in the dark thatches of hair under his arms and above his still-hard cock.

Derek refused to let himself be distracted, and his expression hardened. "A magician, huh? Sounds like bullshit to me." He squinted at the young man and leaned forward in a slightly threatening manner. "Say, what's this game you're playing, anyway? Why'd you lie to me? Tell me."

Spencer raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "It's not a game. I saw you on the street and I wanted you to fuck me. I had to get your attention somehow... It worked, didn't it? What's the harm?"

Derek gave him an exasperated look. "You lied! You... you pretended to be someone you're not! _'Oh, bonjour, Monsieur! Fuck me harder, Monsieur!'_" Derek mimicked disgustedly. "Who are you, for real? What the hell's going on here, anyway?"

Spencer reluctantly sat upright, brushed strands of hair away from his face and sighed. "Okay, fine. I'm not a gypsy. We're a performing troupe from New York. We travel around doing shows; we're on our way to Florida for the winter. We do humorous sketches, improvised dialogue, scenes from Shakespeare. We sing and dance. We'll make you laugh, and we'll make you cry. And, as I already told you, we all have our own specialties to shake down the yokels. I do magic tricks."

With that, he leaned over Derek and pulled a coin from behind his ear. He kissed him, and Derek found the coin had made its way into his mouth. He spat and threw it across the room and then looked into Spencer's eyes. Teasing him, mocking him? Had he really been stupid enough to believe the kid had feelings for him? He'd just been played for a fool.

His bewilderment turned to anger.

"Oh, hell, I've had enough of this." He started to climb over Spencer, but just then the door opened and he heard women talking and laughing. The curtain was again yanked aside and three women crowded in together, staring at his nakedness. A small blonde, a tall brunette, and a full-figured redhead all stood with their eyes clamped onto Derek's penis, hanging limply between his legs as he knelt on the edge of the bed. The brunette inhaled deeply and said, "Smells like sex, huh, girls? Someone's been having a nice morning!" Then, the redhead shrieked and the other two dissolved into laughter. Derek sat back and pulled the sheet over himself, and Spencer made a shoo'ing gesture at the girls.

"All right, all right, you got what you came for, now go away, evil harlots," he said with a chuckle.

"Now, Spencer, don't be selfish," the brunette chided. "You've got more than enough there to share, I can see that."

"Sorry, Em, he's mine. Every beautiful inch." Spencer put one arm over Derek's shoulders and kissed his cheek. That brought forth another delighted squeal from the redhead, and he grinned at her before adding, "Anyway, you have Hotch. Now, who's being selfish?"

The one he called Em sniffed disdainfully. "Ha. I've told you before, if you can get him, you can have him." There was a moment of silence as everyone but Derek stared at her sympathetically. Apparently, all was not rosy in the domestic bliss of the camp, but the dark-haired beauty shrugged it off and changed the subject by saying, "Well, fellas, enjoy yourselves a little longer, but we have to go into town to drum up some business for tonight. Spencer, don't make me come back here and drag your naked ass out of the bed. Right, JJ?"

JJ grinned. "Might get more business that way, at least in some parts of this berg. Have fun, boys!"

The redhead was still staring adoringly at Derek. "You're not going to run away, are you, darling? You'll stay with me, I mean, us, forever?" She gave a naughty shimmy and raised her eyebrows invitingly.

"Pen, I have a feeling he's not so interested in what you've got under that skirt," Spencer reminded her.

"I know—but I can dream, can't I?" She flashed a gorgeous smile at Derek, shrugged and flounced after the other girls. Spencer leaned forward and gave Derek another kiss, on the mouth this time, soft and sweet and lazy. Derek was so astonished by the whole situation that he kissed back before remembering he was angry with the boy. He jerked away and fixed a baleful look onto him.

"Hey! Cut it out. I'm getting out of here, this place is a loony bin just waiting to happen."

"Aw, don't go! We can fool around some more—or, we can get breakfast, if you'd prefer. You want some eggs?" Spencer started to get up, but Derek pushed him back onto the bed.

"I don't want anything from you! In fact, I never want to see you again. You're a—a lying little shit, you understand that? And, a thief, on top of that! Now, get out of my way, and don't talk to me." He scrambled off of the bed and began dressing. Spencer watched with a petulant look on his face.

"Don't be mad! Come on, Derek, you had a good time, didn't you?"

"Shut up."

"Well, at least come and see the show tonight. For free! Please?"

"No. Fuck you, and fuck your crazy show. I wouldn't be caught dead within ten feet of it, or of any of you lunatics, for that matter. Now, goodbye. Thanks for a nice fuck."

"Aw." Out of the corner of his eye, Derek could see the boy had slumped into a miserable heap on the bed. "But, I really like you," he said softly.

"Don't care. You shouldn't lie to people."

"I'm sorry. I just... I just wanted to be with you." Spencer watched Derek stride out of his trailer. He got up, pulled on trousers and walked outside, staring as Derek strode up the road toward town. He really, really hoped he'd change his mind and come back, or at least go see the show.

He thought he might.

He thought, possibly, that the fact that he'd stolen his wallet would help.

* * *

The surge of anger in the second dream startled Morgan awake. He lay there for a while, aware that, once again, he had that exhausted, wrung out feeling, but he managed to drag himself out of bed and go to the gym. Still, he barely made it through his workout, in spite of his trainer's encouragement and admonitions.

Worse, the dream stuck with him throughout the entire morning. He wasn't sure what particular aspect was getting to him the most—God, it was _all_ disturbing—but it lingered in the back of his mind, tickling at him annoyingly every time he settled down to concentrate.

He finally decided he needed to get another perspective. He stood outside Hotch's office door and raised his hand to knock. Then, he thought better of it and started to walk away; he only made it a few feet before turning back and resolutely tapping on the unit chief's door.

"Come." Hotch was seated at his desk, deep in paperwork.

"Hey—sorry to bother you, man, but do you have a minute?"

"Of course." Hotch motioned for Morgan to take a seat, and then put aside a document he was reading. "What is it?"

"Uh... Nothing, really. I've just been feeling kind of... weird lately."

"Weird? How so?"

"I don't know. Run down, kind of listless. I'm not sick, but—I just don't seem to have any energy, you know?"

"Take a sick day tomorrow and see a doctor."

"Well—I really don't think it's physical."

Hotch frowned thoughtfully. Morgan rarely confided personal information to him, so he knew there was something significant causing the seasoned agent such distress, and he really wanted to help him if he could.

"Hm. Any other symptoms?"

Morgan shifted in his chair. "Uh... okay, this is going to sound stupid, but I've been having these wackoid dreams lately, and I don't know what to make of them."

"'Wackoid?'" Hotch grinned. "That's a diagnostic term I'm not familiar with. Is it in the DSM-IV?"

"Ha ha, you know, everyones's turned into a comedian around here lately. No, I just never had dreams like this before and I don't know what they mean."

"Well, Freud had a few things to say on the subject. What kind of dreams are they, do they involve work? Gory, violent stuff?"

"No, not at all. It's just, like, a long time ago. Another world. Real vivid, and almost all of us are there—you, Reid, Emily, JJ, Garcia. Even Gideon, although he wasn't actually present."

Hotch pursed his lips and nodded. "Could have to do with abandonment issues. An absent father figure?"

Morgan made a pfft sound. "I sure as hell never though of Gideon as my father."

"No, but dream symbols take odd forms." He watched Morgan shift uncomfortably in his chair. "Was there anything else? I mean, from what you've told me, that doesn't sound particularly unsettling. Is there more to it?"

Morgan raised his eyes and met Hotch's. He hated having his personal life spill into the work environment; hell, that was one of the things he liked about having such an intense, demanding job—he could disassociate himself from some of his troubles simply because his work took so much thought and energy. But, Hotch was being kind enough to give him the opportunity to unburden himself, and he thought he'd better take advantage of it.

"Okay. So, Reid... In these dreams, he's a young guy, like, a teenager. And..."

Hotch raised his brow and waited uncertainly. "And?" he prompted.

Morgan took a deep breath. "And... Let's just say, there's a... sexual aspect to the dream." He dropped his eyes to the floor.

Hotch didn't allow his expression to change, but he took a few moments to absorb the information. "Ah. You and... Reid?"

Morgan nodded slightly.

"Well. What do you think that means?"

A sneer of irritation came over Morgan's face. "I don't know! Look, Hotch, I'm straight, okay? So is he, as far as I know. I mean, the issues's never come up! We're friends, really good friends, but that's it. Why would I be dreaming sexy stuff about him? It doesn't make any sense!"

Hotch paused a moment, carefully considering his next words. "Morgan, you know that any pop psychology article on dreams will tell you that dreaming about a homosexual encounter doesn't automatically mean you're gay."

"I know I'm not gay! But, why would I dream something like that?"

"Well, maybe the sexual part isn't the point. You say Reid's young in your dreams. That suggests vulnerability, innocence. Maybe that represents something you're, I don't know, looking for within yourself. Wanting to start over, take a fresh look at things." He smiled wryly. "Of course, I'm just making this up, I haven't a clue what it means." He quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe you're just horny."

"Then, I'd better find a date soon. I don't know if I can take another night like last night," Morgan muttered grumpily.

"Probably not a bad idea. Was there anything else?"

An impish expression crossed Morgan's face. "Well... In the dream, you and Prentiss had a thing going on, too. What do you think _that_ means?"

Hotch grunted in amusement and leaned back in his chair. "Uh—well, all I can say is that dreams don't necessarily have a literal interpretation. These could be about any number of subconscious matters, things that may not even have anything to do with sex at all." The two men sat quietly mulling that over for a moment, then Hotch added, "But, look, since it's upsetting you, why don't you make an appointment with a Bureau psychotherapist? It might help to discuss it with a professional."

Morgan waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, it's not that big of a deal. I actually feel better just having put it into words." He stood up. "But, I'll keep it in mind if this keeps up."

"Good."

Morgan turned and headed toward the door. Hotch called to him, "Morgan?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't hesitate to come talk to me any time. I may not be an expert on dream interpretation, but at least I can listen. All right?"

"Sure, I appreciate it. Later."

Morgan went back to his own office. Oddly, he did feel better; the dream now felt intangible, grainy. Maybe putting the most disturbing parts of it into words had taken away its power. Maybe he just needed a decent night's sleep. He vowed that this weekend he'd spend a solid 48 hours conked out under the covers.

He'd be interested to see if that did him any good.


	3. Reid's Request

**A/N: Thanks to you wonderful readers for the favs and follows, and to my reviewers for the kind words, including all the folks reviewing anonymously. It is deeply appreciated!**

**Love,**

**Seds**

* * *

Shortly after Derek's departure, Spencer tapped at Penelope's trailer door.

"Enter, unworthy one." She glanced at the disheveled boy and grinned. "Rough night, eh, sexy?"

"Wonderful night. But, the morning didn't go so well. He left. Angry."

"You do have that effect on people sometimes." She noticed a grimace of pain pass over the boy's face. "What's the matter?"

Spencer grinned sheepishly. "My bottom's sore. You know, where he, uh—"

"Repeatedly thrust his throbbing manhood into your eager, willing flesh?"

"Uh, yeah, something like that... You got anything?"

"Of course, my love." Penelope rifled through a cabinet and handed him a little glass jar filled with a cream the color of sunflowers. "This should improve the situation."

"Thanks." Spencer started to take down his trousers, thought better of it, and gestured for Penelope to turn around.

She rolled her eyes. "Like I've never seen that before. Heck, I just saw it this morning!" But she obediently turned and let Spencer apply the ointment in private. When he finished, he announced "All done." Penelope turned back and tsk'd at him in amusement. "I guess that pretty man did quite a number on you, didn't he?"

"My own fault. Couldn't get enough."

"I can imagine. If I had that bronze hunk in my bed, I wouldn't be able to walk for a week. How many times?"

"Only twice, but it went on for a while."

"Oh, my." She handed Spencer a cloth to wipe his hands. "So, is that better?"

"Much." Spencer looked lost in thought, then added, "I hope he comes back."

Penelope reached out and took his chin in her hand. "He will. How could he not? Look at you, you're adorable."

"He was mad because I played a trick on him."

"Mm-hm. Shame!"

"I had to, Pen. It would have taken forever to get him otherwise."

"Well, he'll forgive you. Did you ask him to the show?"

Spencer nodded.

"Good, you can make it up to him afterwards."

"Yeah." He looked up suddenly. "When will Gideon be back?"

"There's no telling, you know how he is. Why?"

"Aw... I wanted to talk to him before Hotch has a chance to."

"Why?"

"I maybe kind of borrowed some money from him before I had a chance to ask him for it. I bet he's going to make a big thing out of it with Gideon, and then I'll have to listen to one of his interminable lectures." He shrugged and then dug in his pockets, his hands coming out empty. "What do I owe you? I'm a little low on funds right now, but—"

"Don't worry about it, just do me some magic. Something I haven't seen before."

"All right." He thought a moment, then reached back into his trouser pocket. He produced a small intricately folded paper flower. He put it behind her ear and held up a hand mirror for her to admire herself. Then, he took back the flower and laid it in his palm; he closed his hand on it, rotated his fist a few times, then opened it, and now the flower was gone and a live butterfly sat on his palm, slowly flapping its wings. He shook his hand slightly; the butterfly took off and left through Penelope's open window. She laughed and clapped her hands gleefully.

"That was marvelous, baby! God, you just keep getting better."

"Thanks, Pen, it was my pleasure. So, when are we going into town?"

"In a few minutes. You should get ready."

"All right. Thanks again." Spencer gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, making her coo, and then slipped out of her trailer. The soothing cream had already rendered his little problem a thing of the past, and he strode purposefully back to his own trailer to get ready for work.

* * *

Derek made his way down the dusty road toward town, preoccupied with his own stupidity. How could he have been so taken in by that damn little shyster? Yeah, he had beautiful eyes. And, a wonderful grin. And, Derek kind of liked the way he laughed, the way he moved. He'd definitely liked the way it felt, thrusting inside him. But there was more to it than that; it was the way the boy had trustingly settled himself into his arms, the way he'd looked at him as if he cared about him, as if he _meant_ something to him...

He'd wanted that. And, he was ashamed to admit it, but he wanted it again, now, always—something he hadn't even known existed, and now he needed it, like water, like air.

And, it didn't even exist, not really. The kid had played him, and for what? Sex? With those eyes and that ass, he could get anybody he wanted. The fun of putting something over on an innocent, okay, _stupid,_ stranger? That was a dangerous game, not worth the risk he wouldn't think, unless there was something else to be gained, something like—

Derek stopped in his tracks and reached for his wallet.

Not there.

A sneer of self-disgust came over his face, quickly followed by a rueful, knowing grin.

Well, damn. _The boy was good._

All right, he thought. Now he understood. Now, they were on an even playing field.

He considered going back, but he was desperate for a bath and clean clothes. He knew the troupe would be in town later that afternoon; he'd recover his property then.

Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, Derek picked up the pace and returned to his hotel room.

* * *

The troupe spent the day working the midday downtown crowd. JJ was dressed in a flowing white gown with a flower garland in her hair, and she sang, played the lute, and danced as they went along. Emily, clad in colorful gypsy garb, would stop and take a passerby's hand and quickly read his or her palm, saying just enough to get them intrigued. She'd then hand them a flyer for the show.

Spencer did magic tricks, mostly for the kids, but he'd slyly work the moms into the act, flirting and charming them, making them feel young and desirable again. Penelope hawked healing oils and invigorating elixirs, seemingly able to tell whose lumbago was acting up and who was suffering a hangover just by looking at them. Hotch stood by, stern and solid, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Anyone getting too close to the ladies found themselves the object of his attention, and they'd quietly back away, no questions asked.

Derek watched from his hotel room window, taking it all in, but mostly he watched Spencer. The youth was wearing his top hat and velvet coat, and had a ruffled white shirt on under that. He moved fluidly, his smile came easily, and his eyes widened as he performed his tricks, seemingly just as amazed as his audience at his own sleight of hand. It was amazing to see the excitement the team was able to work up; money changed hands here and there, and the group just kept moving down the road.

Derek waited until they were a few blocks ahead before slipping out and making his way down the alley. Spencer had lagged behind, still handing out flyers, still dazzling youngsters with his magic. Derek shadowed him and at just the right moment, his hand shot out and he grabbed him securely by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the deserted alley.

Derek's muscles were like iron, flexing under his shirt sleeves as he forcibly guided the kid to a secluded spot. He towered over Spencer's slight frame and roughly jammed him against a brick wall, his lips pressed together tightly in a stern line.

"Where's my wallet, boy?"

Spencer's eyes were huge, and he was again the picture of bewildered innocence.

"Uh... Excuse me, mister? Do I know you?"

"Don't give me that shit. Just give it back, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

Suddenly, a sunny grin came over Spencer's face. "Oh! Of course, of course, I remember now. You're the nice man with the unreasonably large penis. Nice to see you again—how are you?"

"Shut up, and hand it over. Now."

"I'm sorry, hand what over?"

"My wallet, kid."

"Your wallet? I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Boy, I swear, I'll—"

"Oh, your _wallet!_ Right, now that you mention it, I did, um, find a wallet—you must have dropped it..."

"I didn't fucking drop it, you little bastard—you stole it from me!"

Spencer took on a wounded expression. "You know, it's not very nice to go around accusing people of things for no reason. I—"

Derek gave him another hard jolt against the wall. "You're nothing but a damn thief and a liar. Admit it!"

"I am not!" Another jolt. Spencer grimaced as the back of his head made contact with the brick. "Ow! Okay, okay, fine, I took it. But, I was just playing another little trick on you—ha ha, funny, huh?"

"I ought to call a cop."

"Oh, now, that's not necessary! It's safe and sound, back in the trailer... I'll be happy to go get it for you, or better yet, just come to the show tonight. I'll have it for you then, I promise."

"Yeah, right, you'll have it, minus the cash and my train ticket. No, kid—I want it now."

"No, no, I didn't take it for the money! You left in such a hurry, and I just wanted to be sure that I'd see you again." He gave Derek a hopeful smile and cautiously patted him on the chest. Morgan's eyes narrowed.

"You little brat, I oughta beat the shit out of you. No, I oughta drag you over my knee, take off my belt, and wear your cute little ass _out."_ Derek stared menacingly into his eyes, but Spencer looked positively delighted.

"Really? Well, I'm a little busy right now, but later—" Derek leaned in closer and tightened his grip painfully. His voice became a low growl.

"I'm not playing with you, boy. What I will do is this—I will haul your ass into the police station and leave you there on theft charges. Let you spend the night sweet-talking the locals in the drunk tank while they take turns with you, how'd you like that?"

The teasing look instantly drained from Spencer's face. Derek was mildly shocked to see what appeared to be genuine alarm in his eyes; every instinct told him to back off and tell him that it was okay, he didn't mean it, that he'd never do something like that to him, but... his bruised ego rather liked having the upper hand, if only for a moment. He maintained his threatening glower.

Spencer blinked uncertainly. "N-no. Please..." He sounded defeated. "Don't do that. Here—I-I have your wallet." He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the item. He handed it to Derek, but the bigger man didn't release his hold.

"Let's see the money."

Spencer opened the wallet and showed him the cash, intact. "It's there, every cent."

"And the train ticket?"

Spencer pulled it out. "See? I didn't take anything. I was going to give it back, I swear."

"Yeah, right."

"I was!" Spencer took a deep breath. "Please, Derek, don't be mad. Don't... Don't turn me in." He dropped his eyes and spoke in a low voice. "I'll do anything you want."

A shadow crossed Derek's face and he gently lifted Spencer's chin. "Hey. Look at me."

Spencer looked into his eyes, surprised to see the anger gone, replaced with something like concern. "What?" he asked.

"Now, you listen to me. I would never take anything from you that you didn't want to give; I just want what's mine. Understand?" Derek's voice had a raw edge to it that told Spencer more about the man than words ever could. He gave a weak nod and held his gaze until Derek finally relaxed and went back to his tough-guy posture.

He snatched the billfold from Spencer's hand and made a point of examining the contents for himself. "Okay, looks like it's all there, fortunately for you. Now, get the hell away from me and leave me alone. I have a train to catch."

Spencer's mouth dropped open. "Wait—you're leaving town?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Aw, don't do that! Please. Come to the show tonight."

Derek regarded him irritably. "Why, so you can fleece me out of my cash in front of an audience? Steal the buttons off my coat, the shoes off my feet?"

"No! I want you to see us perform. We're really good, you'll like it." He threw in a wheedling, "Please?" for good measure.

"I don't have time for foolishness like that."

"Come on." Spencer bit his lip, then added, "Afterwards, you can come back to camp with me..." He gave a teasing little smile, leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "I'll speak French to you. You seemed to like that."

Derek raised his eyes to the sky and raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "You are too damn much, you know that, kid? What the hell am I supposed to do when you—"

Spencer wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and kissed him. After a moment, Derek pushed him back against the wall, gently this time, and welcomed the feel of the warm lips and tongue against his own. Spencer fit himself against Derek's body, and Derek felt his groin tighten. He pulled back and stared at the kid's winsome expression. A smile tugged at Derek's lips, and he finally shook his head, powerless to combat the pretty dark eyes and the naughty smirk he was now being faced with.

"Well... I guess I could trade in my ticket for a later one. We'll see."

Spencer chortled, "Oh, good, hooray! I can't wait." Then, he leaned away from him and peeked around the corner to see the rest of his team far down the street. "Uh-oh, I better go. I'll see you tonight, okay? Promise?"

"I suppose."

He was rewarded with an amazing grin that made Derek's stomach flip, and the older man smiled back. "Try not to get into any more trouble, will you, kid?"

"I won't. _Au revoir!"_

Derek glanced down to pull out the train ticket, and when he looked up, the boy was gone.

He looked back at his wallet; sticking out between the greenbacks was a folded piece of paper that he would have sworn on a Bible wasn't there before. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

At the top, it said "Derek." Below that were two intertwined red-crayon hearts drawn simply in a child-like hand. Under that, the name "Spencer" was scrawled.

Derek frowned at it a moment, and then he chuckled, feeling exasperated but also pleased. He folded it up and slid it in safely among the bills.

* * *

A hideous blaring noise woke Morgan and it took his sleep-addled brain a moment to grasp that it was his phone going off and not his alarm clock. He didn't bother to check caller ID; the ringtone told him who it was.

"Morning, JJ," he rasped.

"Good morning," a cheerful voice answered. "Sorry to call so early, but we have a case and Hotch wants everyone to meet at the airfield in an hour. He'll brief us on the plane."

"Gotcha." Morgan sat up, grateful that it hadn't been a video call—he had a raging morning hard-on. He wondered if that would have been taken care of if he'd been allowed to continue dreaming. Judging by the sticky undershorts he'd woken up with the past two mornings, he was pretty sure it would.

He had time for a quick shower, and once the warm water was flowing and he had a nice lather worked up, he took himself in hand and dealt with his erection. He tried his best to focus on imagining himself with any one of several beautiful ladies he'd recently had trysts with, but the image of dream-Spencer kept crowding his thoughts. When he finally reached release, it was due to a mental picture of himself and the boy joyfully rutting on a soft feather mattress in a gaily painted travel wagon, and a sense of consternation came over him immediately afterwards; he'd never made himself come so hard in his life.

Once recovered, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower stall. He wrapped a towel around himself and stared at his reflection in the mirror. "What the hell is happening to you, man?" he thought despairingly. Hotch's comforting words came back to him and he nodded; after all, it was just a dream, a sexy, sexy dream, and maybe the fact that it featured Reid in dream-form didn't matter.

He was just glad he hadn't spent the last ten minutes jerking off to a mental image of real-life Reid.

* * *

The briefing took an hour, but flying to California still left them with a long flight ahead of them.

Morgan moved from the meeting circle to a seat at the front of the plane, intent on putting in his earphones and catching a nap. The plane was going through a turbulent stretch and there had already been a couple of stomach-churning dips. Morgan preferred to sleep through such experiences whenever possible.

But, much to his dismay, Reid followed him. The plane made a sudden lurch and the younger agent stumbled, almost ending up in Morgan's lap. Morgan raised his hands and caught Reid around the waist, helping him steady himself until he could maneuver his way into the seat next to Morgan's.

"Whoa, sorry!" he said as he pulled the seatbelt around himself.

"No problem," Morgan said, still feeling the warmth and solidity of Reid's slim waist in his hands. He shook off the thought and forced himself to wonder if Reid intended to talk him to death, or if he just wanted to get away from the group to silently mull over the points of the case. He fervently hoped it was the latter.

"So, I've been thinking about your dream," Reid said.

Morgan started; he'd forgotten he'd even mentioned it to Reid. "You have?"

"Yeah. You know, dream theory was covered in my psychology courses, but my professor didn't give it much credence, and I used to share his opinion. But after you mentioned me speaking French in your dream, I decided to do a little research and it's actually kind of interesting."

"You read up on dream theory?"

"Yeah, I picked up a a couple of books last night."

"A couple?"

"Well, six. Four serious texts and two self-help type things, nonsense really, but I have to admit, it was kind of fun."

"Okay. So, what does you speaking French in my dream mean?"

"Well, it's not that simple. Are you familiar with dream theory?"

"They covered it in my psych classes too, but I don't remember much about it. Sounded like crap to me, if you want to know the truth."

"Right. Well, Freudian theory states that all dreams are about wish fulfillment. Children dream very straightforwardly, but as we mature, our subconscious often wishes for things we believe to be dangerous or forbidden; in a nutshell, your dreams protect your conscious mind from conflicts too stressful to deal with when you're awake."

"And, what does all that have to do with you speaking French?" Morgan asked tiredly.

"It could be a message from your subconscious that you don't yet understand. Or, it could represent an unfamiliar problem in your waking life that you don't know how to approach and resolve." Reid peered inquisitively at Morgan. "Does that make any sense to you?"

Morgan shifted in his chair. "Maybe. I'll have to think about it."

Reid went quiet for a moment, then asked, "What about last night? Have you had any other odd dreams?"

Morgan glanced at his friend, determined to avoid further discussion of his wacky dream-life. "Uh—no, I don't think so. I don't usually remember my dreams."

Reid nodded, looking pleased. "Well, that's a skill you can acquire. Look, I got you this." He pulled up his messenger bag, crossed one leg over the other to rest it upon and inadvertently nudged Morgan's knee as he did so. He scrabbled around in the bag before bringing out a small notebook and a pen. "Here," he said as he handed them to Morgan.

Morgan slowly moved his gaze from Reid's leg, which was still touching his knee, and stared at the objects. Then he looked at Reid. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a technique people use for dream therapy. You keep the notepad by your bed, and as soon as you wake up, you force yourself to think back to whatever dream you awoke from, and you scribble down the basic points. That way, you can analyze them later." He proffered the gift again. "Here, try it. I'll be happy to help you do the analysis. I don't claim to be proficient at dream interpretation, but all of this has actually given me an idea for a research project, and it would help me out if I had someone to practice on."

"Oh, come on, man, I'm not going to be able to remember anything, and I sure as hell won't be coherent enough to write it down when I first wake up!"

"I know, right? But, apparently that's what everyone thinks until they start doing it. It supposedly gets easier as you go along. Come on, give it a try—I'm going to do it, too. Maybe it won't work, but I think it'll be a really interesting experiment, given the line of work we're in. Give it a chance, okay?" He again gestured at Morgan with the notebook.

Morgan continued to stare balefully at Reid. The last damn thing he wanted to do was discuss anything that came out of his randy subconscious with the object of his dream-obsession, but real-life Reid was looking at him hopefully, and he realized it would be pretty shitty of him not to at least agree to try to help his friend with his project.

"Well... Okay. I'll give it a try. No promises, though." He took the notebook and pen and put them with his things under his chair.

"Great! Thank you." Reid said. He settled back in his seat and began to go over the case files.

Morgan tried to stay awake, but gradually drifted off into a nap.

The next thing he was aware of was the plane harshly bumping the ground as it landed.


	4. Professor Gideon Welcomes You

**A/N: Hope you won't be disappointed, but there aren't any warnings for this chapter except for a bit of language and general creepiness. Also, posting a little early today because tomorrow's Easter, and next week will probably be late as I'll be out of town.**

**Hugs and thanks,**

**Seds**

* * *

It was getting close to evening; Derek woke from a nap in his hotel room bed, got dressed, and headed downstairs. He paused by the establishment's exit and noticed that one of the flyers the troupe had been handing out earlier in the afternoon was posted on a window, giving the time and location of that night's show. He went out and strolled to an empty lot at the southern end of town.

Colorful scarves tied together served to rope off the area where a show wagon was parked. It was larger and much more ornate than the one Spencer lived in, with elaborately carved filigrees and painted panels adorning all four sides. The name, "Professor Gideon's Traveling Compendium of Dreams" was lettered above the door; it caught Derek's eye, and he puzzled over the meaning for a moment.

Derek slipped under the rope and went to the caravan's entrance, climbed the steps, went inside and looked around. He realized that one side could be opened up, turning the wagon into a stage. A heavy velvet curtain divided the space. He called out, "Spencer?" and as he reached out a hand to pull back the curtain, a stern voice intoned, "Don't do that."

Derek whirled around; he was certain no one had been behind him when he came in. A man looking to be in his fifties was standing by the door, and Derek deferentially nodded at him. "Sorry. I was looking for Spencer."

The man had dark, thinning hair and piercing brown eyes. He looked Derek up and down in a critical manner, and then pursed his lips for a moment before saying, "I see. Friend of his, are you?"

"Uh, yeah. He invited me to see the show." Derek stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Name's Morgan, Derek Morgan."

"Jason Gideon. Nice to meet you." Gideon didn't take his hand.

Derek cleared his throat. "You're the Professor, I take it?"

Gideon shrugged, looking amused. "Yes, that's me. Ridiculous, isn't it? I've never taught a class in my life. But, that's show business, you know. You have to make things... memorable."

Derek couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he asked, "What the hell's a 'dream compendium' anyway?"

A slow smile crossed the man's face. "I'll tell you later. First, I have a question for you." The smile stayed, but his voice had a suspicious tone to it. "What do you want with Spencer?"

Derek met Gideon's eye and he didn't like what he saw there. He steeled his gaze and answered sharply, "I told you. We're friends."

"I seriously doubt that. Man like you trying to be pals with a kid like him? Doesn't ring true."

"What are you saying?"

"I'll be frank. I think you have a mind to bed him. If you haven't already."

Derek felt ire rise in his throat, and he took a step forward. "What's it to you? Oh, wait—maybe I'm stepping on your turf. Is that it?"

Gideon's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, but let me make something clear. Spencer's like my son. I look out for him, and I'm not going to let him be hurt by some high roller passing through town looking for a quick fuck. Get it?"

Derek's fists tightened and he would have loved nothing more than to take the bastard out with a good right hook, but he forced himself to consider the man's words. He wondered what Spencer thought of Gideon; he'd only mentioned him in passing, but he'd sounded as if things were good between them. If what Gideon said was true, he was just trying to protect the boy, and Derek respected that. He relaxed and took a deep, calming breath.

"Right. Sorry. Listen... I have no intention of hurting him. We just met, and we're having fun together, but that's all. You can ask him yourself if you don't believe me."

Gideon seemed to relax as well, and he made a conciliatory gesture. "Well, I have no reason not to believe you. Spencer doesn't always make the best decisions, but he's generally a pretty good judge of character. I'm sure he knows what he's doing." That strange smile came back to his face and he glanced toward the heavy curtain. "You asked about the dream compendium. Here, let me show you.'

He moved past Derek to the curtain, and was just about to pull it aside when Spencer appeared in the doorway and shouted, "Gideon! No!"

The youth sprang forward and grabbed Derek's arm, jerking him away from the curtain. "Don't. _Please."_ He pushed past him and whispered something in Gideon's ear that Derek couldn't make out, but it sounded as if he said, "He's a good man." Spencer wore an anxious expression, and Derek looked from him back to Gideon. The older man was still smiling slightly, but there was a darkness in his eyes that Derek didn't understand.

"As you wish," Gideon said. He stepped away from the curtain and pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket. He struck a match and lit it, and then began to puff, turning to impassively observe Derek again.

Derek felt oddly relieved at seeing Spencer and he gave him an uncertain grin. "Uh... Hey, kid. I came to see the show like I promised. Guess I'm a little early."

"That's all right." Spencer patted his arm, then tugged at him. "Let's go outside so you can get a good spot." He cast a worried look back at Gideon, and then led Derek down the steps. People were beginning to gather at the roped-off area, and Hotch was standing there, preparing to collect admission.

Derek glanced behind him, then back at Spencer. "What the hell was all that about? What's behind that curtain?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing, really. It's just that that's where we keep the props and costumes and such." Spencer smiled reassuringly.

"Yeah? Well, you didn't need to grab me like that. I can take care of myself, you know." Derek irritably straightened his collar, and Spencer nodded.

"Of course. I just didn't want Gideon to spoil any of the show's surprises for you, that's all." He still seemed to be keeping an eye on the show wagon's entrance.

Just then, Penelope and Emily came out and began readying tables on either side of the wagon. One had a scarf draped over it proclaiming "Why suffer? Try Dr. Garcia's Magic Elixir!" The other was covered with a satin cloth and had a sign stating "Madame Emily Sees Your Past, Knows Your Future."

By now, Spencer's discomfort had passed and he gave Derek a warm hug before saying, "I need to go get ready, so you just stay here, okay? You'll have the best seat in the house. I'll see you after the show." He scampered off, his touch leaving Derek with a longing to keep him close, to hold him, to bury his face in his neck and inhale his scent.

He stared after him until he noticed that Hotch had dropped the rope and let people enter. The area around the stage quickly filled up and the crowd stretched back for several rows.

After a while, the doors opened and oil lamps came on, seemingly of their own accord. A heady smell of exotic incense filled the air, and what sounded to Derek like calliope music started up. Gideon strode grandly onto the stage, wearing a black silk jacket and top hat. He stopped in the middle and faced the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Professor Jason Gideon. Welcome to my Compendium of Dreams. What you will see tonight may shock you. You'll be amazed, you'll laugh, and you may be brought to tears, but one thing is absolutely certain—you _will_ be entertained. Now, with no further ado, may I present the beautiful and mysterious Lady Jennifer—and Clyde." He took a slight bow, and the audience responded with a round of half-hearted applause. The curtain behind him opened, and JJ was standing there.

She had her hair tied back in a bun and she wore a cloak that covered her from her neck down to her feet. The audience fell quiet as eerie music began to play. JJ stared straight ahead, unsmiling. She slowly brought her hand to her throat and undid a clasp; the cloak shimmered to the floor, and the audience gasped.

JJ was dressed in a spangled belly dancer outfit, but what shocked the audience much, much more was that there was a live snake wrapped around her waist. Its head faced the crowd and it opened its mouth to hiss, revealing glinting fangs as if in greeting.

JJ began to dance, undulating her body, and the snake slithered over her, up to her shoulders, her neck, and then it coiled itself around her arm and matched her liquid movements as if it were a part of her. The mesmerized audience stood stock still. As the song ended, JJ brought the cloak up over her head; suddenly, there was a flash of light, and the cloak again dropped to the floor, but now Spencer stood in JJ's place, with the snake coiled tightly around his neck.

He sported a bewildered expression, and then he looked down at the snake and made a comically horrified face, earning him a good bit of laughter; he unwrapped the creature from around himself and held it out toward the audience, as if to throw it to the crowd, and a number of ladies in the front row shrieked. Then, another flash of light came, and now the snake was gone and in its place was a bouquet of daisies. Spencer smiled and threw the flowers to the audience; they disappeared in mid-air and became a shower of bright yellow confetti.

The audience laughed and applauded enthusiastically.

Next, Hotch and Emily performed a scene from "The Taming of the Shrew," in period costume and with perfect English accents. The relative normalcy of it seemed to settle the audience and they gave their full attention to the actors.

The next act belonged to Gideon. He came out and sang a mournful lament for lost love in a beautiful tenor voice, acapella. Derek noticed some people dabbing at their eyes, and he felt a catch in his throat, himself.

Then, changing the mood, two garishly painted marionettes dropped down from overhead onto the stage and began a sort of Punch and Judy show. Derek recognized the voices as belonging to Spencer and Penelope. They were outrageously bawdy and funny, and Derek found himself cracking up along with everyone else. The boy puppet had a big stick and kept threatening the girl puppet with it as they traded insults. Finally, the girl puppet wrestled it away and bashed the boy puppet over the head, to great applause. He was then jerked upward, and he disappeared into the rafters. The girl puppet took a smug bow before joining him.

Then, Spencer came out on stage carrying a third puppet, this one a rather pretty blonde female in a filmy white gown. Hotch played a lively tune on the violin and Spencer made her dance, but after a few bars, he clumsily dropped her in front of the stage. He mimed being embarrassed, then leaned down and pulled her up.

But, this time, it was JJ at the end of the strings.

Hotch switched to a haunting, delicate melody, and Spencer worked the strings, appearing to make JJ dance to his will. Her face was painted a chalky white and with her lips outlined in dark red and wearing the same type of diaphanous gown, she looked exactly like the puppet. She was completely limp, her head sagging, and the sight was both beautiful and somehow ghastly. When the music came to an end, Spencer let JJ slowly fall into a heap on the ground; he bent down to pick her up, but now the puppet was in her place and somehow JJ was on the stage behind Spencer. The audience went wild with applause, and Derek clapped as loudly as anyone.

There was more singing, another skit was performed, and JJ danced a steamy tango with Hotch. Spencer did more magic, bringing three people up from the audience to pick a card, any card, and while he couldn't seem to guess the right cards, he did manage to triumphantly relieve each of them of watches, wallets and jewelry, all of which he returned with a big flourish at the end of the bit. As an encore, he pulled the correct cards out of each person's ear, and then the curtain came down and Gideon returned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have been a delight. It was our pleasure to entertain you. Now, if you'd like to have your future told, or if you have nagging aches and pains troubling you—and gents, I'm not talking about your wives—please visit Madame Emily or Dr. Garcia at their tables. Thank you, and good night."

Everyone applauded madly, and people began to line up at the tables. Derek looked around for Spencer. He noticed Gideon talking to an unknown man, and after a moment, the stranger followed Gideon inside the wagon. Gideon came out several minutes later, and the man soon after, but when he returned, he was pale and he moved haltingly, as if in a trance. Gideon watched as he walked away, the same odd smile on his face that he'd had earlier when he was talking to Derek.

The sight left Derek feeling unsettled. He suddenly had a strong urge to find Spencer and take him away with him, far from the caravan, far from Gideon, and far, far away from his magic.

* * *

Morgan sat alone at the hotel bar. The BAU jet had landed just after 4:00 PM, and the meeting with local law enforcement had taken a couple of hours. The team had agreed to meet for dinner at a nearby restaurant, and the rest of them had gone to their rooms to unwind, but Morgan had napped during the flight, and he didn't want to go to sleep again even if he could. The dream he'd had on the plane was, oddly, even more upsetting than the sex dreams he'd been having about Reid. This one left him feeling uneasy and worried. He supposed it was just a reflection of the tension he always felt going into a new case, but even so, it was bizarre.

He still carried the smell of oil lamps, incense, and a sweaty crowd in his nostrils, and a vague memory of dream-Spencer's agitation at whatever it was Gideon had been about to do to his dream-self lingered in the pit of his stomach. What did it mean? Nothing? How could something that... _tangible_ mean nothing?

Just then, Prentiss came into the bar and took a seat on the stool next to his.

"Hello, stranger. Getting a jump on the rest of us, huh?"

"Hey, Princess. Not really, I just couldn't stay in the room. Thought a little liquid refreshment was in order."

Prentiss ordered a drink and when it came she raised it to Morgan, and he clinked his glass to hers. "To this case getting solved quick and easy," Morgan said.

"Amen." Prentiss watched Morgan knock back the rest of his drink and then order another one. She raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

"You've been looking a little... off the last couple of days. Is everything all right?"

Morgan sighed. "It's nothing. Just a little trouble sleeping."

"Mm. I know how that is. I've learned not to hesitate to pop a pill if it gets too bad. Maybe you should try it."

"Nah. It'll pass." He glanced at her, and added, "But... I've been having weird dreams, too."

"Oh, yeah? About what?"

Morgan started to answer, then paused. Suddenly, he turned to her with a look of such intensity in his eyes that Prentiss was taken aback.

"You ever have a dream so vivid that you could taste food in your mouth? Feel someone lying beside you, the warmth of their skin against yours, the smell of their hair—and then have that scent stay with you, even long after you woke up?"

Prentiss stared at him a moment. "Uh... Well, I once dreamed my dead Grandma Betty was sitting on the edge of my bed talking to me about her Hummel figurine collection, and when I woke up I was _really bored."_ She waited for Morgan to laugh, but when he didn't, she frowned and gave him a puzzled look. "So, whose hair are you smelling? Anyone I know?"

Morgan pulled back and shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh, come on. Is it Garcia?" Prentiss asked lightly.

Morgan laughed a little. "I wish. But, no."

"JJ?"

"No."

Prentiss wrinkled her nose. "It's not Strauss, is it?"

Morgan did laugh, this time. "Remind me why I'm talking to you about this again?"

Prentiss laughed too, then a thought struck her. "Oh, God—it's not me, right? Not that I'd mind starring in your dreams, but I can see where that might be a little awkward."

Morgan gave her an affectionate look. "No, honey. I wish it _was_ you. Hell, I'd even settle for Strauss, to tell you the truth."

_"Huh?"_

"It's a guy." Morgan just came out and said it. His nerves were so raw, he didn't care what Prentiss thought, he just felt the need to talk about it at this point.

"A guy? Oh, Morgan. So, you think that means... something? About, you know, your—"

"I don't know what it means."

They were both silent for a few minutes, and then Prentiss asked, "Do you want to tell me who he is?"

"It's Reid."

Prentiss' mouth dropped open. _"Reid?_ Really? Wow." She turned back to her drink and took a sip, unsure how to proceed with the conversation. Morgan saved her by adding tiredly, "I think I've got some kind of a thing for him."

"Oh. Okay. Well—do you think that because that's how you really feel, or is it because of the dreams? I mean, I'm pretty sure you're not the first straight person to have a sexy dream about a same-sex coworker. "

"I don't know. I don't know how I feel, I'm just confused. I think the dreams are trying to tell me something, but it's so... I've never thought of him in that way before, you know? Not once. But, maybe I have, and I just repressed it so hard, I didn't realize it was happening." He turned to look Prentiss in the eye. "I'm not gay. But, the attraction in the dream is so strong—am I going crazy?"

"I doubt it. Look, I don't know anything about dream interpretation, but—"

Morgan laughed. "Yeah, but guess who does—I made the mistake of telling Reid that I was having weird dreams, not that I told him about, you know, me and him, but now he wants me to keep a dream journal and he's offered to do the analysis for me. Now, how'm I supposed to deal with that?"

Prentiss laughed too. "I think you do need a doctor, but Dr. Reid's not it." She grew serious. "Honest though, Morgan—have you thought about seeing someone? Like, a shrink? It might help."

"I don't know." Morgan shook his head and shrugged. "I'm probably making a big deal out of nothing. Hotch thinks that in my dream, Reid symbolizes some conflicted aspect of myself that I'm struggling with, and he's probably right. I think I just need a nice long vacation, away from all you guys. When your co-workers start visiting you in your sleep, you know you need a break, right?"

"Oh, I think so. If I were you, I'd put in for some time off as soon as we get done with this case." Prentiss finished her drink, and then checked the time. "We're meeting for dinner in a few, but I think I'll go freshen up first. See you in the lobby, okay?"

"Yep. I'll see you there."

Morgan finished off his drink as well, and then headed up to his room to change for dinner.

* * *

**By the way, I am of course thinking of "The Lesson," shudder, in the scene of JJ dancing as a marionette. Also, anyone who's seen "The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus" will recognize the thought behind the show caravan and Professor Gideon, but I'm going to have things go a little differently.**


	5. A Long Drive to the Dump Site

**A/N: I'm sorry to be so long in updating! Work has decided to be crazy for a change. Well, crazier. Anyway, I missed you. Thank you so much for reading—and reviewing!**

**Seds**

* * *

As the show crowd began to disperse, Derek turned back and spotted Spencer ducking into the caravan; Hotch followed after him, and then JJ. Gideon stayed outside, presumably to keep an eye on Emily and Penelope, both of whom were busy with customers. Derek walked to the back of the wagon to wait for the boy, but his eye caught movement in a sparse stand of trees beyond the show grounds and he started off in that direction.

He could see fairly well by the light of a fat full moon, and he headed down a hilly path until he came to the edge of a secluded cove. There he saw Spencer with a small bundle under his arm, and Derek realized he must have wanted to change out of his sweaty show costume and into clean clothes. He started to call to him, but Spencer had just slipped out of his jacket and was now unbuttoning his dress shirt. Derek became mesmerized by the sight of the slender young man's pale skin being revealed under the other-worldly yellow glow of the moon.

Spencer pulled off his boots and then shucked off his trousers, leaving him completely bare, his back to Derek. He leaned down and picked up a fresh pair of trousers.

A soft smile came over Derek's face.

He cleared his throat loudly, and Spencer whirled around, clutching the trousers to cover himself in front. When he saw Derek, he grinned and let the clothing fall to the ground, offering Derek a full view of his lanky body.

"Hey, pretty boy," Derek said.

"Hey, yourself."

"What are you doing down here?"

"Oh... It gets pretty crowded in the wagon. Plus, I needed a little fresh air." He huffed in self-deprecating amusement. "I didn't think anyone could see me."

"Well, I happened to be looking for you." Derek strode up and gathered him securely in his arms. Spencer nestled into him, fitting himself against Derek's sturdy frame, and the older man buried his face in the crook of Spencer's neck, breathing deeply of his scent—sharp sweat, lamp oil, and the spicy aroma of incense. He claimed Spencer's lips and kissed him deeply, taking his tongue into his mouth and sucking on it, eliciting a sweet, helpless moan. Derek pulled back and grinned.

"You know, you look good enough to eat, all naked under the moonlight like this," he said. "In fact, I think I'll eat you all up, starting... right... here." He pushed away a thatch of tangled curls and nibbled at the silky skin of Spencer's neck, making him yelp happily.

"Hey, cut it out!" He pulled back, laughing. Being in Derek's arms felt amazing, even better than he remembered—powerful muscles encircling him, the scratch of a woolen suit against his bare chest and hardening cock, the subtle scent of soap and cologne reminding him of something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but which he knew meant warmth and safety. He burrowed into Derek's arms and said, "Let's go back to camp, okay? We can, you know—snuggle up and get friendly." He chuckled, giving Derek a wicked little wink.

"Mm, you gonna give me some more of that good stuff I got last night?" Derek asked in a warm, throaty voice as he playfully squeezed the lad's bottom.

"Uh-huh. Anything you want," Spencer murmured. He rested his head on Derek's shoulder and hugged him; God, he'd willingly lie down on the cold rough ground right then and there and spread his legs for this man, give him his mouth, his ass, whatever he wanted, not caring that his body was wrung out and that his brain felt like mush—all Derek had to do was ask.

Although, he really sort of hoped Derek would agree to take him back to the warmth and comfort of his travel wagon first. There, he could relax without worrying about someone walking up on them unannounced.

And Derek wanted him, wanted him badly, more than he'd wanted anyone ever in his life. Raw instinct told him to pull down his trousers, free the pulsing ache of his erection, and give in to the pleasure of taking the warm, naked young man wrapped in his arms—now, under the moonlight, with crickets chirping and a whippoorwill sounding off as if urging him to get on with it, already.

He gathered Spencer in tighter, and the boy clung to him, and there it was again, that, that... _trust._ Derek frowned a bit; he'd seen the tiredness in Spencer's eyes, could feel the exhaustion in his body, hear it in his voice. A surge of tenderness came over him; he reluctantly eased his grip, dropped the husky lilt in his voice, and said kindly, "Well, I tell you what. How about you pull on your britches and I take you back to my hotel room? After the performance you gave back there, I think you need some dinner and a good night's sleep. We can 'get friendly' in the morning."

Spencer leaned back and looked at him, puzzled. "Sleep?" he asked, as if the word made no sense coming from Derek's mouth.

"Yeah, sleep. You were amazing up there, kid, you must be worn out."

Spencer raised an eyebrow and smiled tentatively. "Well... I am a little tired. But, wait, you want me to stay at your hotel with you?"

Derek nodded. "Sure. Is that so strange?"

"Uh... kind of. A fellow like you wanting to be seen in public with somebody like me? Most men just want to, you know, take me out behind a barn somewhere." He dropped his gaze to the ground. "Not that I go for that kind of thing... usually." Suddenly, he brightened and looked into Derek's eyes. "You know, I've never slept in a hotel room before."

Derek ran his fingers over Spencer's cheek. "You haven't?"

Spencer shook his head. "I'd like to, though. I bet it's nice."

"Yeah, it is. Clean sheets, a warm bath... Come on—put on your clothes and let's go."

Spencer bit his lip. "Mm, okay, but I better tell somebody where I'm going. They get really mad when they can't find me." He gave a mischievous grin, and Derek got the feeling that the troupe spent a fair amount of time searching for Spencer.

"All right. I'll go see if I can get my fortune told real quick."

"Okay." Spencer quickly pulled on his clothes, gathered up his costume and zipped off to the caravan, while Derek strolled back to Madame Emily's table.

* * *

Neither of them knew they were being observed.

Hotch was in the caravan putting away props when he glanced out the back window and saw Derek walking down the hilly path. He frowned, went out the door and followed him; he soon spotted the object of Derek's interest in the cove, and he sneered, shaking his head. He stopped behind a tree, well out of sight of the pair.

A moment later, Gideon quietly came up and joined him, following his gaze down the hill. "What's going on?"

Hotch nudged his chin in the direction of the two, and the men watched as Derek took Spencer in his arms and kissed him.

Hotch sighed irritably. "I thought you were going to do something about that."

Gideon gave a wry laugh. "I tried. Spencer wouldn't let me. Says he's a good man."

"Hmph. I'm sure he'll be thrilled with him after he runs off and leaves him tomorrow. It's hard enough getting that kid to keep his mind on his work without dealing with a case of love-sickness."

"Well, it's too late to change that. Anyway, it'll be a good lesson for the boy. He needs to become a little more selective about where he places his trust."

Hotch nodded, then added, "Did you take care of the other...?"

"Oh, yeah. All done." He smiled slightly, then turned and went to bring the horses around to hitch up to the wagon. Hotch started to follow, but stopped as Spencer, now fully dressed, came running up to him, smiling excitedly.

"Hey, Hotch—Derek's going to take me to his hotel room for the night."

"What?"

"Yeah! He's going to buy me dinner and everything." The boy sounded completely delighted, but Hotch gave him a dour shake of the head.

"I'm sorry, Spencer. I can't let you do that."

Spencer's face fell, but then he looked angry. "Why? Are you still mad because I borrowed the money?"

Hotch rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You didn't borrow it, light-fingers, you _stole_ it. But, no, I'm not angry, because I knew exactly where it was. It's just... distasteful, having to track down my cash while you're on your back, getting buggered by some stranger."

"Well, I'm sorry about that, but you _do_ owe me two weeks pay. I was just settling up between us. Without asking, I admit, but still." He smirked, thinking of Derek's face when Hotch had walked in on them, and then he added, "You still owe me the wages, by the way."

Hotch glared at him, but he pulled out his wallet and counted out some bills and handed them to the boy. "There, now for God's sake, shut up about it. But, regardless, that's not why you can't spend the night in town. It's just that we're hitting the road first thing in the morning, and we don't have time to wait for you to drag yourself home at no-telling-what late hour. And, anyway, I'll need your help breaking camp."

Spencer looked up as he put the money in his pocket. "Why the hurry?"

"Gideon ended up having some business to do. We need to leave at first light."

Spencer stared at him a moment, but then just looked deflated. He gave a reluctant nod. "Oh. All right... I'll go tell Derek."

"Oh, please. Don't look so sad. It's not as if he couldn't be persuaded to spend the night with you in camp," Hotch said dryly.

"Maybe." Spencer smiled a little. "I'll go ask him. It really doesn't matter to me where we are, I just want to be with him as long as possible."

Hotch regarded the young man. As infuriating as Spencer could be, Hotch _did_ actually care about him and didn't like seeing him unhappy. Not that the lad ever listened to his advice, but he felt obligated to try. "Spencer, listen—"

"Yes?"

"You do know he's leaving town tomorrow. You won't be seeing him again."

Spencer's jaw tightened, but he shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But, I don't care. I just... I like being with him. Even if it's only for a night."

"You're going to get hurt."

"No. I know what I'm doing."

Hotch quirked an eyebrow. "If past experience tells us anything, I seriously doubt that," he said lightly. Then, he turned serious. "You know you don't need him. Remember what Gideon said—you're meant for better things."

The air seemed to drop several degrees, making Hotch shiver. He waited for the boy to answer, but he was looking up through the trees, toward the moon sitting high in the sky, and they stood there in silence for a long moment. Finally, Spencer said softly, "Maybe I don't want those things. Maybe I want Derek."

Hotch took his chin and brought his gaze downward, peering sternly at him. "And, you think he feels the same? Don't fool yourself. You know perfectly well what he wants from you." He paused, noting the boy's resentful scowl. "You're just an easy lay to him."

"That's not true." Spencer's voice was like steel. "He's kind, and he cares about me." His breathing was now coming hard, and he spat, "You don't know anything about him."

"And, you do?" Hotch asked scornfully.

"I've seen his soul." He stared into Hotch's eyes, holding his gaze with what felt to the older man like a spark of lightening, and then he turned to go find Derek.

A shock ran through the older man, leaving him feeling weak and depleted, as if the boy had claimed all his body's energy for himself. _"He's getting stronger, now,"_ he thought.

He had to force himself to shake it off as he went to help Gideon with the horses.

* * *

_"I've seen his soul..."_

Morgan's eyes snapped open and for a horrific moment his muscles were useless and he couldn't move; he felt a weight on his chest, smothering him. He could have sworn someone... something?...was in the room with him, but he could only turn his head slightly in one direction, and he didn't see anything unusual.

Then, suddenly, he was free to move again, and in his mind he could hear Reid's lecture-voice intoning, _"Hypnagogic sleep paralysis, also known as isolated sleep paralysis, is characterized by complete muscle atonia and sometimes features hallucinations. It often occurs during interrupted REM sleep, and is common among individuals suffering from various anxiety disorders, including PTSD..."_

Morgan sat up in bed, his terror fading, replaced by rueful amusement that, once again, he knew more about something he cared absolutely nothing about than he rightfully should, due to having been subjected to one of the genius's long-winded expositions on the topic. It was the same with Star Wars and Star Trek and, lately, Dr. Who.

It annoyed him to no end that he knew what a TARDIS was.

"Hypnogogic sleep paralysis... _Shit."_ Morgan chuckled grimly to himself. Reid would be pleased to hear that one of his idle musings had infiltrated Morgan's brain enough that he was able to remember the term, although he'd be sure to make a point of informing him of one simple fact—that knowing what a thing is called doesn't make it any less terrifying.

He reached for his phone to check the time, but his hand came to rest on the empty journal Reid had given him. He picked it up and stared at it; after a moment, he took a pen and quickly began scribbling, blinking to clear his sleep-clouded eyes.

He wrote until the sharpness of the dream eased a bit and he found himself straining to remember details. His phone's alarm went off and he rolled out of bed, headed for his hotel room shower. Once he was dressed and ready to face the day, he strode toward the door, but as he put his hand on the knob, he paused.

He went back, picked up the journal, and then hastened downstairs to meet the team.

* * *

"Turn right at the next light."

Reid was peering at a map laid out across his lap, navigating for Morgan as he drove them toward the unsub's dump site. It would be a long drive, miles outside the city limits, and Morgan knew that once they left civilization, he'd be dependent on Reid's interpretation of the hand-drawn instructions the local sheriff had provided for them, in lieu of sending an officer to go with them. Their small force was already stretched thin, and the rest of the team was busy interviewing witnesses and visiting the abduction sites.

Hotch had given them their assignments earlier that morning and he'd watched Morgan's reaction to the idea of going on a long car ride alone with Reid, a mixture of dismay and reluctant acceptance evident on his face. Hotch met Morgan's suspiciously raised eyebrows with a slight shrug.

Morgan was still acting as if he were slogging through a field of Jello, and Hotch really hoped that having some uninterrupted time alone with Reid would help him get over whatever dream-induced confusion he was suffering. Hotch couldn't care less whether the two men ended up falling into bed together, or having a knock-down, drag-out fight over the situation, as long as they did it on their own time and he managed to get his senior agent back in good form, 100% focused on the case.

But clearly, Morgan wasn't about to take the initiative without a little shove.

Morgan made the turn and after a few miles, the scenery gave way to long runs of open land with mountains in the background. Reid was poring over a document and referring back to the map from time to time. "It doesn't make sense. Judging by the irregularity in his choice of hunting grounds, he's not anchored to any one spot. Why does he keep dumping them in the same place every time?"

"Maybe that's the point. Maybe there's something about the area that means something to him."

"But, the locals said there's nothing there."

"Yeah. Well, I guess we'll get a better idea of it when we see it for ourselves."

Morgan drove on, not wanting to disturb the young profiler's thoughts, but he took note when Reid put down the materials and began gazing out the window. He hesitated for a second, but then went ahead and spoke.

"So, I started using the dream journal you gave me."

Reid turned to look at him, a pleased expression crossing his face. "Really? Wow, that's great—I was afraid you'd blow it off."

Morgan shrugged. "Well, given the... weirdness of my dreams, I figure I need all the help I can get."

"They're still disturbing you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Okay, what did you dream last night?"

"Uh, well, it was a continuation of what I dreamed the night before."

Reid looked up sharply. "A continuation? Wait, you didn't tell me you were having serial dreams. For how long?"

"Actually, it's been going on since that first night, the one I told you about where you spoke French."

Morgan was aware that Reid was staring at him. He shrugged and asked, "What?"

Reid pursed his lips thoughtfully. "That's extremely unusual. I mean, recurring dreams are fairly common, but to have sequential, continuous dreams? That's pretty rare."

"Really?" Given Reid's probing manner, Morgan thought he now knew what a lab rat felt like. "So, does that mean there's something wrong with me?"

"No, no, of course not. It probably has to do with changes you're experiencing in one particular part of your life." Reid cocked his head sideways. "Maybe you should give me a little more detail about what's been going on in the dreams."

Morgan sighed, quickly reducing his four dreams down to a basic outline of the story that seemed to be unfolding in his sleep, leaving out any references to his dream-self's sexual attraction to dream-Spencer.

"...So, Gideon seems to be kind of a shady character, and Hotch ended up giving you the money he owed you. So, what could that possibly mean? I mean, why would I dream of Gideon as a bad guy? And, why the hell would I care whether or not Hotch paid you your missing wages?"

Reid was quiet, busy sorting through the avalanche of information Morgan had just dropped on him. "Hm, money keeps turning up in your dreams. And, I seem to keep stealing it."

Morgan chuckled. "Yeah, you're a real little scamp in them, that's for sure."

"Well, money typically symbolizes power. It can represent self-worth and success. Maybe you're having issues with self-confidence, for some reason. Or, maybe you're feeling that some aspect of your well-being is being taken away from you."

"I don't think so."

"It may not literally have to do with success, it could be your emotional strength that's being sapped. Are you worried about something? Your family, maybe?"

Morgan shook his head. "No, uh-uh. Everything's been fine. What do you think about the Gideon thing? He's been gone for years. Why would he turn up as a villain?"

"Gideon disappointed all of us. At one point, he was definitely a source of emotional strength, for me at least. Maybe you, too? And, you resent him for leaving and taking that resource with him?"

Morgan shrugged as he continued to stare at the road through the windshield of the SUV. "I don't know, kid. I appreciated Gideon, but... I can't say I've missed him all that much." He stole a glance at his teammate, then asked, "My biggest question, really, is... why do I keep dreaming about_ you?"_

Reid looked over at him. There was an uncertain sound in Morgan's voice that he'd never heard before. He bit his lip before answering. "Uh... Well, I don't know. I mean, I must symbolize some aspect of yourself, your personality. I'm your friend, and also your co-worker, and we've been through a lot together. Of course, you're physically stronger and more adept at the job than I am. Maybe I represent some... vulnerable part of yourself, some aspect that you're not satisfied with." Reid shifted and went back to gazing out the window, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand.

_Vulnerable._ There was that word again. Morgan picked up on a slightly hurt tone as the young man spoke, and it left him feeling bewildered. Morgan had never thought of Reid as weak, or even as being particularly unsuited for the job, certainly not since the early days. They all had their strengths, and, yes, Reid's happened to be in the area of intellect, but that didn't mean his skills in the field weren't up to par.

"Hey, man—I have no idea what my crazy subconscious has to say for itself, but I never thought of you that way."

"You didn't?"

"Hell, no. I mean, I may treat you like a little brother, tease you and shit, but that's just me. I trust you. And, you got stones, man, you've done shit I wouldn't touch on my best day. I... I admire you, Reid. I guess I never told you that, but I do. And, if my dreams are using you to express something... vulnerable about myself, well, I don't understand that. You're one of the best guys I know."

Reid dropped his hand and looked back at Morgan. "Wow. Thanks. That... that means a lot to me."

They drove on into the less-and-less populated area, and both were quiet until Morgan finally sighed, and said, "Listen... There's something else about these dreams I haven't told you."

"Okay. What's that?"

"There's a... sexual component to them."

"Oh?"

Morgan nodded.

Reid shrugged. "Well, that's another common symbol. Sex in a dream may represent an unfulfilled desire." He smiled slightly. "So, who are you, uh, having sex with?"

Morgan swallowed hard before answering. He kept his eyes trained on the road.

"You," he said finally.

For a fraction of a second, there was dead silence. Then, Reid broke up laughing.

"All right, fine—don't tell me. I'm sorry, of course that's none of my business."

Morgan glanced at him, somewhat relieved but also taken aback that Reid didn't believe him. Then Reid added, "It's Prentiss, right?" He was still chuckling.

"Come on, man, let's drop it."

"Aw, it's okay! I've had dreams about her a few times, myself."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. JJ, too. And, Elle."

A rueful grin tugged at Morgan's lips. "You really get busy in your dreams, don't you, kid?"

"Yeah, well... I have to have something, nothing ever happens to me in real life." Reid's smile faded and he leaned back and stared at the road ahead. Then, he straightened and added apologetically, "Hey, Morgan—listen, man. I wish I could give you more in-depth analysis of all this stuff, but I can see you're not comfortable discussing the details with me. And, that's okay. But, maybe you should see a doctor, someone trained in dream therapy. I think you're working through something significant in your subconscious, and it might help to have a professional to guide you through it."

"Aw, I really don't think it's that big of a deal. I'm probably just tired. But, thanks, I'll think about it."

"Okay. But, still, do me a favor, will you?"

"What?"

"Keep writing in the journal."

Morgan huffed slightly, but nodded.

They drove on, not speaking except for Reid's directions as they went through several twists and turns on a winding road. Eventually, they reached the dump site, got out of the SUV and began trudging toward an area a few hundred feet away, sectioned off by crime tape.

As they walked, Morgan kept musing on his and Reid's conversation. On the one hand, Morgan thought that maybe he should come clean and tell Reid the truth about his dreams. Maybe if he saw the whole picture, he really could help him figure out what it all meant. Besides, he hated leaving his friend feeling as if he didn't trust him; he did. He knew Reid was mature enough not to get freaked out by whatever sexual nonsense Morgan happened to be dreaming about him.

On the other hand, he was grateful as hell that Reid hadn't picked up on the reality behind his confession. If he were to be honest with himself, he was almost to the point of not _wanting_ to know what the dreams meant.

He just wished they'd stop.


	6. Lucky

**A/N: Woot, I'm managing to post in a timely manner, huzzah! All righty, oh, and please be aware that this chapter contains dream-sex and naughty words. **

**Seds**

* * *

The walk from the SUV to the dump site was hot and treacherous, with the sun burning down on Morgan's scalp even though it was still only late morning. Rough terrain marked by splits of sun-parched ground and nests of protruding rocks made for frequent trip hazards. Morgan ruefully watched Reid's less than nimble negotiations, sure that the younger agent was about to fly forward and land on his face more than once. It occurred to him that it would be tough going if he ended up having to carry Reid back to their vehicle with a broken ankle, although the thought of gathering Reid into his arms had a certain appeal to it.

He forced the image out of his mind.

And, predictably, Reid did manage to catch his foot in a crag. He made an "oof" sound as he went down, and Morgan hurried to his side to help him up. "You okay, man?"

"I'm fine," Reid muttered, sheepishly waving away Morgan's offered hand and scrambling to his feet relatively unharmed, brushing dirt from his knees as he regained his composure. "One thing's for sure, the unsub didn't pick this spot for ease of access."

"You got that right." Morgan wiped sweat from his brow and followed behind as Reid made the rest of the way to the open grave without incident. They stood on the rim and looked down into the excavated space, now empty. It had contained six bodies, two more than expected, letting them know that the killer had been active even longer than they had originally believed. Strangely, the temperature was a few degrees cooler there. "Nice to be out of the sun, though," Morgan added.

"Yeah..." Reid looked up to the cloudless sky. "Which is weird..."

"What?"

"Look—those two peaks. See how they jut off to the side? At this time of day, they..." Suddenly, Reid took off again and began climbing the incline of the rising ground a few yards away, ungracefully clambering upward at a rapid pace.

"Reid! Get back over here, you're going to break something, and I really hate setting bones on the fly." Morgan sprinted after him and began climbing, too. "By the way, there're snakes out here, you know..."

"It's a little early in the year for reptilian activity," Reid answered, not slowing down at all.

Morgan looked up, noting that Reid's ass looked rather cute, outlined by the snug fit of his khakis as he made his way upward, and he instantly grimaced at the distraction. Finally, Reid picked a large flat rock to serve as a seat and he perched there, surveying the ground below them. Morgan joined him and looked down as well.

"So?" he asked.

"The point of intersection between the two peaks is precisely in the middle of the grave site," Reid said, frowning thoughtfully.

"And, what do you think that means?"

"I don't know." He pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen, and then shook his head. "No signal. Come on, we need to get Garcia started on some research."

Even more quickly than he'd ascended, Reid began half-sliding his way back down and Morgan dutifully followed him, rolling his eyes when Reid nearly lost his footing, and irritably shouting useless words of caution.

* * *

Hours later, back at the hotel, Morgan finished taking a long, hot shower. He stepped out, wrapped up in a towel and went to lie down on his hotel room bed for a bit, determined to watch something mindless on television before giving in to sleep.

His phone rang, and he picked it up, smiling at the caller image displayed on the screen. "Hey, baby girl. You got something?"

"Oh, yeah, a fat lot of nothing, all wrapped up in a bow. Reid's got me looking for stuff that happened way before the internet was even a gleam in Al Gore's eye—I'm talking, like, before fountain pens were invented."

"Huh. Sounds like we're going to be spending some time doing research the old-fashioned way, with books and papers and shit."

"Yeah. But, that's not why I called you, super-stud."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Garcia's voice took on a soft tone. "I'm checking on _you."_

"Me? Why? I'm fine."

"Right. That's why you've been wandering around looking like someone kicked your puppy this whole last week."

"Garcia—"

"I meant to grill you about it yesterday, but then the case came up and you flew from my protective arms to a place where I can't keep an eye on you."

"I'm completely fine."

"I hear you've been having trouble sleeping. And, something about crazy dreams?"

Morgan sighed. For a group of people with high-level government clearance, it sure was hard to keep a secret within the BAU. "It's nothing. I think I just need a vacation."

"Come on, I know you better than anyone. You haven't been yourself for a while. What's going on? Spill it, lover, or I'll be forced to come out there. Don't make me fly commercial."

Morgan settled back among the pillows and closed his eyes. He'd purposely avoided talking to his dear friend about his dreams for exactly the reason she'd stated—she knew him all too well. She'd have seen through his carefully veiled story about why the dreams were bothering him and he just hadn't been ready to face up to his budding attraction to Reid before now. Now, though, it was too late to worry about all that.

"All right, here goes. I... think I'm gay."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then, "O...kay. And, why is that, all of a sudden?"

"I've been been having sex dreams about Reid."

Garcia perked up, prairie dog-style. _"Wow."_

"Yeah, wow. Big tough ladies' man, dreaming about wrecking the sheets with skinny little genius boy."

Garcia twiddled a pen and frowned reflectively. "Aw, now. That doesn't make you gay, sweetheart."

"No, but daydreaming about his ass does."

"Oh, God."

"Uh-huh."

"Derek, come on. So what? Everybody goes through that... phase, sooner or later."

"What phase?"

"That, 'Gee, my bff sure is cute' phase. I mean, when I was in high school, I—"

"Garcia. I'm not a kid. And, this is more than a phase, it's something... I think this has been coming for a long time, I just repressed the hell out of it until my dreams brought it to me, front and center."

Garcia was quiet for a moment, absorbing the distress in Morgan's voice before continuing. "Okay. So, maybe you're bisexual, or maybe you really are gay, who cares? I mean,_ I_ do, because my dreams of having tons of chubby little mocha-colored babies with you are fast slipping through my fingers, but—"

"I know, I know, but a man doesn't go thirty-something years thinking he's this one person, only to find out he's someone else without having a little bit of an emotional breakdown, right?" He absently fingered the satin trim on the bedspread, wondering if that was what Reid's neck would feel like under his lips, and the idea made him scrunch up his face in aggravation. He pushed the thought aside, and forced himself to refocus on the conversation. "I'm kind of freaking out, to tell you the truth."

"Well, that's understandable. But, _Reid?_ Really?"

Morgan laughed fondly. "Yeah, Reid. I don't know what it is about him... I haven't really been able to process any of this yet. My mind's going in a hundred directions at once, you know?"

"Have you thought about talking to someone? Like, a counselor or something?"

"Well, that's what everyone's telling me to do, including Reid."

Garcia's eyes widened. "Oh, God—he knows?"

"Not exactly. I kind of let it slip what happened in the dreams, but he laughed it off, and I didn't correct him. I was kind of glad he didn't believe me." He took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. "It's gonna be awkward if I tell him the truth."

"Seems a little premature to do that."

"I know. On the other hand, maybe I should just get it out in the open. Maybe I could face up to it myself, if I was honest with him."

They were both quiet for a few minutes, then Garcia gently said, "What if he has feelings for you, too?"

Morgan laughed. "I'm getting the impression from him that he likes the ladies just fine, thank you. And, anyway... I don't want to mess up our friendship. Plus, we have to work together. I guess I should just keep my mouth shut—it's my problem, not his. He doesn't need me burdening him with this shit."

"Well... Give it some time. You'll figure it out."

Hearing the confidence in her voice made Morgan feel a little better. "Thanks, baby girl. I... I'm glad you're my friend, you know that?"

"I am too. Hey, call me anytime if you want to talk."

"I will, don't worry."

"Okay. Well, I need to call Baby Genius and ask him what he wants me to do now that my web skills have been rendered useless."

"All right. Goodnight."

"Talk at you later. And, Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry. It's going to be all right."

"I'm glad you think so. Good night."

Morgan hung up and then slid under the sheets. The last thing he wanted to do was slip into his bizarre dream world, but his body was sapped beyond exhaustion, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

* * *

Derek strolled around to the front of the show wagon and saw that the ladies had closed down their tables and were preparing to go inside. He went up to Emily and tapped her on the shoulder, offering her a big smile when she turned to look at him inquisitively. He wondered if she'd recognize him, and judging by the way she smirked as her eyes dropped down to the front of his pants, she did.

"Why, hello. You're Spencer's... friend, right?"

"Uh, yeah, that's right. Madame Emily, is it?"

She grinned. "Just Em is fine. What can I help you with?"

"I thought you might have time for one more fortune." Derek held out his right hand, palm up. With his left, he offered her a heavy silver coin. Emily put down the scarf she was folding.

"I think I can manage that." She accepted the money and dropped it in the pocket of her skirt. Then she said, "Let's see..." She took his right hand in both of hers and gripped it tightly as she closed her eyes, the warmth mingling between them to create an intense heat. They stood completely still, as if in a bubble shielding them from the noise and movement going on around them. Then Emily opened her eyes, brought Derek's open palm up and examined it closely.

"Your life line is wide, with many twists and turns—you've had many exciting travels, but it's been a long time since you've called any one place home." She lightly traced along another crease in his palm with her fingertip. "You're a passionate man, easily given to jealousy, but you're also kind and quick to forgive. You're a warrior; you fight for what you believe in. And... you're lucky in love, and lucky at cards." She grinned and looked up into Derek's eyes. "A nice combination, I must say."

Derek grinned skeptically.

"Now, listen pretty lady, I could have told you all that stuff myself. I was hoping for something a little more... substantial. About the future?"

A shadow crossed Emily's face, but she nodded. She looked back at his hand, and her tone became serious. "You long for something. Something you know you shouldn't have." She halted, her eyes still on his palm, clearly hesitant to continue.

Derek said, "Go on."

Emily took in a deep breath, then began speaking in an urgent tone. "You can get it. It won't even be difficult. But, keeping it... You need to understand—the price is great." Now, she looked up, meeting his eyes. "Very great. You must ask yourself—is it worth it?" The smile she'd been sporting had disappeared and now her gaze held an intensity that seemed to bore into the back of Derek's skull. Her voice dropped and he had to strain to hear.

"It's not too late. You can leave, just walk away. It will cause you tremendous pain to do so, but if you stay, the pain will be... unimaginable. This is my advice: _leave._ Get on the train like you planned." She furtively looked around then gave Derek one last devastating look. "Take him with you, if you want. If you can. But, don't stay here. I swear to the gods, you will regret it." With that, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the coin he'd given her. She took Derek's hand and pressed it into his palm, and then turned and walked away, heading for the caravan.

"Wait! What do you mean..." Derek stared after her; he wanted to laugh at her melodramatic manner, but he felt too unsettled by her words to do so. Just then, he spotted Spencer coming toward him and he turned to greet the boy, feeling a jolt of pleasure at the sight of him. But the lad's shoulders were slumped and he had a glum look on his face, and the palmist's words were forgotten as Derek wondered what was wrong. Spencer ambled up to him, biting his lip unhappily.

"Hey, Derek. Listen—Hotch says I can't stay at the hotel with you tonight. So..."

A burst of anger flashed through Derek, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "What the hell? Who's he to say where you can and can't stay?" he sneered.

"He's my boss," Spencer said ruefully. "I have to mind him, sometimes at least."

"But, why can't you go?"

"Oh, uh... Something came up... We have to get on the road earlier than I thought, and I have to be there to help break camp."

"Aw, bullshit. Let 'em go on ahead. I'll hire a horse and you can catch up to them in the next town."

"I-I can't. They need me." He cleared his throat and then gave Derek a hopeful look. "But, you could come back with me and stay in my wagon, like before. I know it's not as nice as a hotel room, but... at least we'd be together." Spencer anxiously watched Derek's face; he didn't really expect the man with the nice suit and carefully groomed mustache to want to come back to a battered old travel wagon with him, especially not just to sleep, but he couldn't help hoping that he would. He studied Derek's thunderous expression and braced himself for a "Hell, no."

Instead, he saw Derek's fury drain away.

The older man noted the sadness behind Spencer's eager offer, and he cupped his chin in his hand as a smile slowly crossed Derek's face. "Well, aren't you the responsible one. All right. Sure, I'll go back to camp with you, kid, if that's what you want. I'm nowhere near ready to say goodbye to you yet." He loved seeing Spencer's worried look disappear, replaced by a delighted smile, and he loved how the boy threw himself into his arms and hugged him.

"Oh, good! I was hoping you'd say yes."

"Of course I said yes." He tangled his fingers in Spencer's hair, liking the now-familiar feel of it. "I want to sleep at least one more night with you in my arms." He felt a catch in his throat at the thought of leaving Spencer, but he pushed the unhappy thought away and gave him a tight squeeze before adding, "Hey, I bet you're hungry. I'm going to buy you dinner in a nice restaurant before we head back, what do you say?"

Spencer smiled uncertainly, a little overwhelmed by the man's kindness. "Really?"

"That's assuming I still have my wallet." Derek gave Spencer a slyly questioning look and Spencer laughed, suddenly feeling happy and at ease again.

"You do. I told you I only took it to get you to come back to me."

"Well... That probably would have happened anyway." They stood smiling at each other for a long moment, then Derek put his arm around the boy's shoulders. "Come on, let's go. It's starting to get chilly, and I'm starving, myself."

"All right." The boy's good spirits were now back in full force and he chattered cheerfully as they headed into town to find a place to eat.

* * *

The camp was still and quiet by the time they got back, and they slipped into Spencer's wagon, careful to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb the sleeping, and nosy, members of the troupe. Spencer lit the lamp, pulled off his clothes, and clambered into his bed. Derek joined him, leaving on his underwear, determined to keep his promise to let the boy get some rest.

But Spencer immediately wriggled into his arms, nuzzling his lips against Derek's neck and running a hand downward to grasp his cock through the soft fabric of his underwear. He sought Derek's mouth and helped himself to a warm, sweet kiss. Derek gave a low laugh and caressed Spencer's face. "Thought you were tired."

Spencer grinned. "I think I got my second wind." He deftly unbuttoned Derek's underwear and stroked his cock into full attention. "Anyway, I can't lie here knowing that beautiful thing's nestled away, just waiting for me to find it. Look at it! What a waste that would be, leaving it undisturbed." He reached up and nibbled at Derek's ear, whispering, _"J'aime être près de vous,"_ between nips.

"Now, knock it off with that French talk, junior, I don't have a clue as to what you're saying."

"Mm. Would you prefer Russian? Cantonese?" He laughed teasingly. "Maybe a British accent? Tell me what you like, I can be anyone you want."

Derek took his face in his hands and looked seriously into his eyes. "I just want you to be you."

Spencer's playful expression faded. He gave a wry smile and there was suddenly a distant look in his eye. "Ah, well. How boring. I can't imagine you'd find that very interesting—I'm no one."

"That's not true." A rush of annoyance came over Derek. "You're Spencer! A wonderful actor and magician." He gestured toward the window at the rest of the camp. "You have people who love and care about you! You're smart, too damn smart. And, goddamn, you're... You're so beautiful. Not just your sweet face, but... you." Derek pulled him close. "Don't you dare say that kind of bullshit ever again, not to me, not to anyone. You're amazing, kid. Don't ever forget that."

Spencer's eyes were wide as he listened, and when Derek finished his rebuke, a slow smile crept across his lips. "Hm. Well... I don't know about all that. But, I _am_ smart, about some things at least." He gave Derek another sensuous kiss. "I'm smart enough not to waste this time with you. Make love to me, Derek. Please?" He shifted, moving down to take Derek's cock in his mouth, sucking him until the thick staff was again fully erect. He then found the little ceramic jar and coated Derek's member before raising himself and straddling his lover. He reached behind him and guided Derek to his entrance, then pushed back and worked the slick smooth tip into himself.

Spencer eased down, slowly taking him in bit by bit before pausing as a look of discomfort flashed across his face.

"Easy, baby." Derek rubbed the boy's quivering thighs, then squeezed them gently. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not. It's okay—I want you inside me, every inch." He squeezed his eyes closed, concentrating, flexing the muscles gripping Derek's cock until he made it past the resistance, and then he sat all the way down, his breath coming faster. "There. That's what I wanted. It feels so good, you in me. Now, fuck me. Please."

Derek reached up, brushed his thumbs over Spencer's nipples, circling the little nubs, and then he grasped Spencer's waist and began thrusting up into him, making him gasp and moan. Spencer ground down against him, their hips working in counterpoint, no sound around them but the rustle of a feather mattress and the two lover's bodies slickly moving together.

Derek couldn't take his eyes off of the young man's face, hair hanging in lank strands, eyes closed, lips slightly apart, but he noticed when Spencer moved his hand to his own erection and began stroking himself. Derek firmly pulled his hand away and replaced it with his own; he gripped Spencer's cock and took over stroking the velvety flesh, timing it with the rhythm of his own deep upward thrusts.

Suddenly, Derek wrapped his arms around Spencer and in a deft move, flipped him over so that he was on his back and Derek was on top of him, his cock still imbedded deep inside his lover. Spencer looked at him in delighted surprise. "My God, you're strong," he gasped.

Derek laughed. "Is this okay?"

Spencer nodded, and Derek settled in for a long pleasurable session of deep, hard fucking. Spencer rutted up against him, wanting to make every second of their coupling count, wanting to feel him forever, to make himself belong to Derek, even if he didn't want him. To his amazement, Derek bent forward and kissed him, a gentle, tender kiss that made Spencer feel loved and wanted in a way he'd never known before. "It's okay, baby. I've got you," Derek whispered. "I'm not going to let you go."

"Derek..." Spencer said brokenly. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, and his orgasm came, washing through him, cleansing him like prayer. Derek was close; he looked down at the thick streaks of come adorning Spencer's chest and belly, glinting in the low yellow light of the oil lamp, and it took only that to push him over the edge. He shot hard, filling the boy, and he shouted, not caring if he woke the whole damn camp with his joyous feat.

Then, Derek held Spencer, covering him with his body, rocking slightly as the last shudders of orgasm ran through both of them; he murmured into his ear, soft words telling him how goddamned good it was, being inside him, how good it was to hold him, to taste him. At last, he raised himself and pulled out, shifting to the side and pulling the covers up around them. Spencer hastily snuggled back into his arms.

"Sleep," Derek ordered. "Daybreak'll be here before we know it." Derek kissed his forehead and soothingly rubbed his back; the command was hardly necessary—the boy made a contented sound and seemed to drift off the second his cheek came to rest on Derek's chest.

Derek gathered him closer, wishing his brain was clearer so he could figure out what the hell to do; when morning came, the troupe would move on. He had a train ticket for New York City, and there were a few high-stakes poker games he intended to join, and, ideally, clean up at. If he was lucky, he'd be set for the winter.

_Lucky in love, lucky at cards..._

If he was lucky, he'd do it with Spencer by his side.

He let the thoughts go, and joined Spencer in slumber.


	7. A Curious Development

**A/N: So sorry to take so long to update, darlings. **

* * *

Jason Gideon stepped out of his travel wagon. He paused to survey the camp for a moment, and then lit up a cigar. It was late, well past midnight; the crew had had a bit of an after-show revelry around the camp fire, eating, laughing, and drinking spirits. But knowing they had an early morning pull-out had effectively cut the merriment short, and by now everyone had turned in for the night. Although, as Gideon slowly strolled within the wide semi-circle of wagons, it was evident that not everyone was actually asleep.

Penelope and JJ's trailer had the low hum of animated chatting, punctuated by an occasional outburst of laughter. Hotch and Emily's wagon was, happily, relatively quiet; there had been too many incidents of loud exchanges, shouts, and doors slamming recently, and more than once Hotch had strode off to ask Gideon for the use of his floor for the night while his temper cooled.

Spencer's trailer was, Gideon deduced, uninhabited. But his senses told him that he and the older man, Derek he'd called him, were on their way. Gideon melted into the forest beyond the clearing and watched until the pair came into sight.

Spencer looked happy, Gideon observed. The man with him... Well, he seemed happy, too, and not just in the sleazy self-satisfied way of a man who had a nice piece of ass coming to him in the near future. He actually seemed to like the boy, and that, Gideon thought, was a bit confounding.

He'd been sure he was one of those men who preyed on youths, for whatever perverted reason. Power, maybe. Some sick sense of inadequacy in themselves. Spencer tended to attract that sort rather easily. Although, on closer inspection, this fellow didn't seem to be one of those at all. His response to Gideon's probing before the show had been surprisingly sincere. And Spencer, for all his occasional flightiness, wasn't stupid about people. He knew how to tell the wheat from the chaff, and while he sometimes played things a bit too close to the edge for Gideon's taste, he always seemed to know just when to skitter away, when to pull back. And, with this Derek person, he wasn't pulling back at all.

Perhaps he really had misjudged the man—that happened from time to time, when his sight was clouded by presumptions.

Gideon leaned against a tree and stared up at the moon, clearing his mind. He wanted to be sure; he wouldn't allow Spencer to be hurt. But if the man Spencer had chosen proved to be a truly decent sort, who was he to prevent them from being together?

He mused for a long while before heading back into camp to pause at Spencer's trailer. He listened; he could hear them speaking in mellow tones. He closed his eyes, listening with his mind. Of course he knew exactly what it was they were about to do, and that in itself didn't interest him.

He just had to know that Spencer was safe. Now, he could sense the boy's great longing, and then... damn it, _pain,_ but it was his choice, it wasn't forced upon him. After a bit, the trailer began creaking and rocking, and Gideon had a vision-flash of two minds, two bodies coming together with lust and gratitude and joy, and to his amazement, he sensed that Spencer was not only safe and happy, but... loved.

That was good, he thought, that was as it should be. He could feel Spencer's contentment, and soon felt his consciousness trail away into sleep. The other man was not so easy to read, and he gave him time, time to join Spencer in slumber. When he was sure Derek Morgan was fully unconscious, he came into the trailer.

Spencer was curled up against Derek's chest, and the older man was holding him protectively even in the soundness of sleep. "Spencer," Gideon said in his thoughts.

The young man stirred. He slowly sat up and rubbed at his eyes. "God, Gideon. What's wrong? I'm sleeping!" Spencer answered in like fashion. If anyone had walked in on the scene, all they would have seen was the sleeping pair snuggled together, with a shadowy figure standing before them.

"I need to talk to you," Gideon said.

"Can't it wait?"

"No. He wants you to go with him, and he'll be asking you in the morning. I need to know what you'll say to him."

Spencer looked soberly at Gideon. "You know what I'll say."

Gideon laughed softly. "You're loyal to me, and that's good. I'm proud of the man you're becoming, Spencer. But, what's in your heart? What do you want to do, in here?" he asked, patting his chest.

Spencer looked down at his lover. "I want to be with him. Always. But, that can't be, can it?"

"I don't see why not. Everyone deserves to have love in his life. I did. It makes you a better person. And, you deserve to be happy, son. I want that for you."

Spencer smiled, but shook his head. "I can't leave you. You saved my life, you gave me everything. You've taught me so much, and there's so much more to learn..."

Gideon watched as Spencer gently ran a hand over Derek's bare arm. He could see the tenderness in his touch, and he could feel the love emanating from Spencer's soul. He sighed reluctantly, and then asked, "So... What if he came with us?"

Spencer's smile became cynical. "He won't."

"What if I made it so that he wanted to?"

Spencer looked up sharply. _"No_. That would mean nothing, and he'd only come to resent me for it." He shook his head again and looked down at Derek's sleeping countenance. "I only want him to be happy. He wouldn't be, if you influenced him. Not for long."

Gideon gave a slight grin. "And of course, you did nothing of the sort."

A spark of amusement came over Spencer's face, acknowledging how well Gideon knew him, but he shook his head firmly. "No, honest, I didn't. There was a bit of mischief and sleight of hand, but that's all. Believe it or not, he's here because he wants to be." Spencer closed his eyes for a moment. "I wouldn't want him any other way."

A rush of sadness went through the older man. Spencer's life hadn't exactly been easy, and he had a sorrow that sometimes drifted so close to the surface that it was like a flame that scorched Gideon's soul. Yet, Spencer cared enough for this man that he was willing to put his needs before his own. Gideon had to honor that.

"I'll only make a gate for him," he said. "I'll not push him through it."

Spencer met his eyes. "And, it would be his choice? Truly?"

"Truly, his choice alone. And, he might say no."

A hopeful look crossed Spencer's face, then faded. "What about the others?"

Gideon snorted. "I don't think the ladies will mind."

"But, Hotch? He won't want a stranger joining our company."

"I'll take care of Hotch. He's a practical man, and I think your Mr. Morgan has plenty to offer. He'll complain, but ultimately, he'll see the wisdom of bringing him aboard."

Spencer tiredly laid his head against Derek's shoulder. "I'm being foolish. He'll probably say no."

"I don't think so." Gideon reached out and ruffled Spencer's hair. "He cares for you. I can see that. His pride may make him hesitate, but he's a practical man, too. His feelings for you will win out."

"Maybe..." Spencer sat up again, giving Gideon a searching look. "But it _will_ be his choice. You swear?"

"I swear. Now, go back to sleep, young one. I have to think on this."

Gideon's form lost light, and Spencer's mind settled back into dreamless sleep, his body still snuggled into Derek's warmth.

* * *

Derek slept hard until sometime in the pre-dawn hour when he woke up needing to pee. He had Spencer nestled against him, his breath wafting softly against his chest, and even in Derek's groggy state, that made him smile. He pressed a kiss on the boy's forehead and then gently eased him onto his back and crawled out of bed, careful not to wake him.

The air still had a nighttime nip to it, chilling his naked skin, so he irritably put on his shirt, and as an afterthought, pulled on his trousers as well, not feeling up to being ogled should he run into any of the ladies out at this early hour. He made his way outside to a friendly tree and took care of his business; as he buttoned up his fly and turned, he saw Gideon standing a few feet away, arms full of firewood. He repressed a displeased sneer and nodded in greeting; the older man nodded back, smiling slightly.

"Lovely night, isn't it, Mr. Morgan? Or should I say morning? Looks like the sun's just starting to grace us with its presence."

"Uh, yeah. Kind of early for tramping around in the woods, isn't it?"

"Well, since we're leaving so soon, I thought I'd get the fire going in plenty of time for us to have coffee. I like to take care of my crew. Care to give me a hand?" He jutted his chin at the load in his hands and Derek hesitated only a moment before taking half of it and following him to a fire pit in the middle of camp. Gideon gave him an appreciative nod. "Many thanks. Must be nice to be young and still have so much energy, after such a... busy night."

"Excuse me?"

"Just going by the sounds and the way Spencer's trailer was rocking back and forth, I assume you said your goodbyes in an appropriate fashion."

"Look, 'Professor.' I told you—we're just having a good time." Derek laid the wood beside the pit and quickly made to go, but Gideon said, "What time is your train pulling out?"

Derek stopped and turned back. "Two-thirty." He locked eyes with Gideon and added, "You might as well know—I hope to have Spencer with me when it does."

Gideon pursed his lips and frowned, appearing to give his words deep consideration. "I see. Have you asked him yet?"

"No, I was waiting for this morning."

"You think he'll say yes?"

"I don't know. I hope so."

Gideon knelt and began arranging a stack of wood for the fire. "And, what exactly do you intend to do with him when you go?"

"What?"

"I mean, what's waiting for you in New York?"

"Poker."

"Ah. A high-stakes game?"

"A couple of them. I intend to make my winter's pay."

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" Gideon rose to his feet. "What if you don't win?"

"Well, I'll have to get myself a job, won't I?"

Gideon grinned. "Doing what?"

Derek shrugged. "I'm pretty damn good with my hands. I can build things, fix things. They're building a lot of new homes up east; I can get on anywhere. It's hard work, but the money's good. And, I'm not afraid of hard work—I've done it plenty of times before."

"And, what would Spencer do?"

"He could help me. Just until I'd have enough cash to get us back home to Chicago. Then..." Derek hadn't really considered how Spencer would fit into his life if he went back home, but it suddenly came to him. "I'd see that he got an education. He's so damn smart, I bet he could do anything he wanted." He met Gideon's eyes. "I'd take good care of him, don't worry about that. I want him to be happy."

"I want that, too." Gideon pulled a box of matches from his jacket pocket, lit one, and threw it on the stack of firewood. To Derek's surprise, it instantly ignited into a rich blaze. He looked at Gideon with an amazed expression.

"How the hell did you do that?"

"Years of practice. Now, listen. I'm not saying your plan isn't a good one. I'm not even saying I don't trust you. But, I'd like to offer you an alternative proposition."

"Oh, really? And, what might that be?"

"How about you join our crew? You can work for me."

Derek laughed. "No thanks. I think I'll take my chances with the cards."

_Lucky at cards..._

Gideon shrugged. "So, you stand to make a few month's wages. Very enticing. I admit, if you went with us I couldn't pay you much—but you wouldn't have any expenses, either. There's always plenty of food to go around, and I assume you'd be bunking with Spencer. By the time we got to Florida, you'd have enough cash for a train ticket to wherever you wanted to go—if you still wanted to leave."

Derek gave him a steely look. "And, what would I have to do for this privilege?"

"Look at these wagons. Both Hotch and I have many talents, but carpentry isn't one of them. You could fix them up, get them back into top traveling condition. And, you could help out with the shows, there's always a lot of work setting up and breaking down the stage."

"What if things don't work out between me and Spencer? What if I wanted to leave sooner, or he kicks me out?"

"That's up to you. I'd see to it that you were able to get wherever you wanted to go."

"Derek?" A sleepy Spencer wrapped only in a blanket called from the steps of his trailer, rubbing his eyes and looking blearily around for his lover.

"I'm over here, kid."

Spencer shuffled over to him and looked from him to Gideon, blinking sleepily. "What's going on?"

Morgan glanced at Gideon, then put his hands on Spencer's shoulders. "I'm leaving today, Spencer. And, I want you to go with me."

Gideon quietly slipped away, leaving them in private.

The boy's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. "Oh... Oh, Derek—I'd love that, I really would. But, I can't." He appeared to be forcing back tears. "I really wish I could, but I can't leave the crew. And, Gideon—Gideon needs me. He—" A rush of emotion caught in Spencer's throat and he hastily looked down at the ground, trying to compose himself.

Derek gently raised his chin. "Spencer, you're just a kid. You don't need to be traveling around, performing for a bunch of yahoos. I'll take care of you, and I'll see to it that you go to school. I intend to make some serious cash in New York. Then I'll take you back to Chicago with me and we can get a place together—"

"That sounds wonderful, but I _can't."_ Spencer's voice was wracked but firm, and he shook his head emphatically. By this point, tears were filling his eyes. "I want to be with you more than anything. But, I can't leave. I just can't." He stood there, clutching the blanket to himself, and then Derek pulled him into a tight hug.

"Aw, come on, now—I don't want to lose you, kid. Hell, I just found you."

Spencer took a deep breath and pulled away. He said softly, "You could come with me." They looked steadily into each other's eyes, the morning light just beginning to illuminate their faces. "I don't want to lose you either, Derek, but I can't go. So, you come with me. Please?" He turned toward the camp, gesturing with his free hand.

"It's not a bad life. I'm happy here. But, I've always been looking for something more. If you were with me, it'd be perfect." He straightened his shoulders and his voice became stronger. "I won't blame you if you choose not to come. But, if you do... I swear, I'll do my damndest to make sure you never regret it."

Derek started to say something, but just then they heard the sound of hoofbeats coming down the road. Soon, three men on horseback came into the clearing. Both Spencer and Derek turned to look at them—the lead man wore a sheriff's uniform, with a broad-brimmed hat and a badge. The other two men were in plain clothes, but they had badges, too.

They came to a halt in front of Derek and Spencer, and the sheriff dismounted and walked toward them. He had dark hair and a goatee and looked to be in his late fifties.

He nodded as he approached. "Good morning. I'm Sheriff David Rossi. I'm looking for Jason Gideon."

Gideon appeared beside Derek and he bowed graciously. "I'm Jason Gideon. How may I help you gentlemen?"

"Do you know a man by the name of Frank Breitkopf?"

Gideon considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No. No, I'm afraid I don't. What's this about?"

"He's missing. His wife said that the last time she saw him, he was going into your show wagon. He never came home."

Gideon's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Goodness, that's terrible. I'm very sorry to hear that. But, I don't know where he could be. A man did come into the trailer—he was interested in seeing the Dream Compendium. But, he left of his own accord. I have no idea where he went after that."

Rossi listened intently, then looked at the rest of the group, who were now gathered around him and his two men. "I see. Well, even so, would you mind if I had a look around? Mr. Breitkopt's wife is quite distressed."

"Be my guest." Gideon held out a welcoming hand and nodded toward the Dream Compendium.

"Gideon..." Spencer's voice was so low that Derek could barely hear him; he turned to look at the young man, and suddenly felt a surge of panic. The boy was pale and looked as if he was going to faint.

* * *

Morgan jerked awake, much as he had done every day for the last several mornings. This morning, however, he automatically reached for his dream journal and began scribbling furiously, not bothering to take the time to reflect on the dream beforehand.

When he'd written all he could recall, he stopped and read over his disjointed notes. He shook his head, a grim look on his face.

"I've got to talk to Reid," he thought. At this point, he didn't care what Reid might think of him, and it didn't matter what conclusions he might come to regarding the meaning of Morgan's dreams. Morgan needed help understanding the damn things before he went crazy, and he for damn sure had no intention of consulting with a stranger. Reid knew him, and given his intelligence, Morgan had no doubt that he was now as proficient at dream analysis as someone who'd been doing it for a long time.

He just had to find time to speak privately with him.

Hardly an easy task in the middle of a case.

* * *

With no further activity on the part of the unsub, the day was spent trying to determine what significance the location of the dump site might have—if any. Morgan and Rossi visited a college campus; Reid and Prentiss interviewed a couple of local authors and a long-time librarian. Hotch and JJ focused on gently probing the victims' families' memories for anything that might link the six people together, with frequent calls to Garcia throughout the day.

By late afternoon, everyone had at least a couple of angles to follow up on, and eventually they all met in the hotel bar, intent on trying to relax and clear their minds for a few minutes, but, as usual, their casual conversations soon drifted to work topics.

"Native American culture was wiped out of this area well over a hundred years ago," Reid said. "There was an archeologist who studied it extensively, and he wrote quite a few papers on it, which they have archived at the library. But it's been so long since anyone was interested that the librarian didn't even know where they were. She's going to search their storeroom in the morning and let me know if she finds anything."

JJ swirled ice in her glass. "We didn't have much luck finding anything in common among all of the victims' backgrounds, but some of them did have Native American ancestry. It's possible the others did too, but we weren't able to contact all of the families yet."

The group mulled over the possibilities for a while before Rossi announced that he was hungry. Hotch agreed that they should all go grab some dinner and then settle in and rest before facing the next day. There was a general consensus that a particular downtown restaurant would be worth trying, but JJ and Emily first wanted to go to their rooms to freshen up, so everyone agreed to meet downstairs within the hour.

Reid was gathering his jacket and messenger bag, and Morgan hung back, waiting while the rest of the team dispersed. When Reid gave him a questioning glance, he said, "Hey—listen, I know everyone else decided to go to that place downtown, but would you mind if we went somewhere else? Just you and me?"

"Well, sure... but, why?" Reid asked.

Morgan pulled out his dream journal and held it up. "I really need to talk to you about this."

"Wow. Another dream?"

"Yeah."

"A continuation, like the others?"

Morgan nodded.

"All right—let's go."

They headed for a restaurant near the hotel and got seated. After they ordered, they sat quietly, Reid sensing Morgan's need to gather his thoughts and kindly stifling the urge to expound on random observations. Eventually, Morgan took a deep breath and said, "Okay. Look, man, I'm just going to come right out and say this. You know how I told you that the sexual aspect of my dreams was between me... and you?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Well—that wasn't a joke."

Reid met his eyes and nodded. "I know."

"You do?"

"Yeah. It just... kind of took me off guard when you said that, you know? So, I made it into a joke. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have reacted that way. I just needed to buy some time, I guess."

"It's okay, I understand. I'm glad you did, I needed some time, too." There was an awkward pause between them, and then Morgan added, "Reid—I'm not gay."

"I know!" Reid gave him an earnest look. "I didn't think that at all." He hastily took a sip of water and Morgan smiled a little. Reid was pretty adorable when he tried to spare Morgan's feelings.

"That's good. Because, it's like you said, that kind of dream doesn't necessarily mean that it's about an actual attraction for the person, right?"

"Exactly."

"So... I need help figuring this out, and I'd rather talk to you than some shrink. I mean, you know me really well, and maybe you'll see stuff that a stranger wouldn't catch. I know it's kind of awkward, and I know you're not a professional dream analyst, but—"

"It's okay. I told you, I want to help, and I think I can." Reid cleared his throat and gestured at Morgan's dream journal, which he'd laid beside his bread plate. "Tell me about last night's dream."

"Okay. It just keeps getting weirder." Morgan gave Reid the shorthand version of his latest dream experience, and Reid listened carefully. Morgan finished with, "And, now my dream-self is being pulled into this situation with the troupe, Rossi's shown up as the sheriff, one of our old unsubs has gone missing, and dream-you is freaking out. I... I feel like it's foretelling something really bad. What I want to know is—should I be worried?"

Reid looked at him, his face scrunched up in thought. "You don't actually believe that dreams predict the future, do you?"

"Well, I never did before. But, Reid, this is what these crazy dreams are doing to me! I'm getting desperate, man. So, come on—tell me, what do they mean, if they're not pointing to some upcoming disaster or something?" He stared searchingly into Reid's eyes. Reid held his gaze, then looked up as the waiter brought their order and solicitously asked if there was anything else he could get for them. They waved him off, and once they were alone again, Reid took a deep breath, but he didn't speak, just poked at his meal with his fork.

Morgan felt as if he were about to combust. "So?" he asked. "Do you have any idea what's going on with these fucking dreams or not?"

Reid licked his lips and took another sip of water before raising his eyes and looking into Morgan's. "I think I do. And, I don't think you're going to like what I have to say."

Morgan raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "Lay it on me, kid. It can't be any worse than what I'm going through now."

Reid nodded and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "All right. I think it has to do with Carl Buford."

There was a moment of thick silence, and then Morgan irritably tossed the napkin he'd started unfolding onto the table beside his plate. "Oh, bullshit."

"I told you you wouldn't like it." Reid gave a rueful shrug and went back to poking at his food.

Morgan gaped at him. _"Carl Buford?_ No, Reid! This does not have anything to do with that bastard." He jabbed a finger on the table. "I've dealt with all that shit. Getting him locked up gave me closure, and knowing he's where he can't hurt another kid gave me some peace. And, I was in counseling for months. He has no hold on me anymore, not in my waking moments, not in my subconscious, and for damn sure not in my dreams. No, it's something else, it has to be. Try again."

Reid pursed his lips. "Okay, well, I can't really help you if you're not going to be open to hearing my opinions. I don't want to upset you any more than you already are, but if you want me to offer an interpretation, I have to be able to say what I think." He sat back in his seat. "If you don't want to hear me out, that's fine, I understand. But then, I don't think there's any point in your continuing to discuss the situation with me." The two men held each other's gaze for a long moment, and then Reid added, "I'm not going to make up something just to give you a false sense of well-being. That wouldn't help you at all."

Morgan's heart rate had increased and his blood pressure shot up. For a moment, he was beyond angry with Reid, but as he forced his breathing to calm down, he recognized that it was misdirected emotion. Buford was a shadow in the back of his mind, and the thought that he could somehow work his way into Morgan's dream-life was infuriating. It was a lot easier to lash out at his friend than to contemplate such a possibility.

Still, he knew Reid had a point—he'd asked him for his input, and rejecting it out of hand wasn't going to do any good. He gave a resigned sigh. "All right," Morgan said finally. "Go ahead. Tell me how these insane dreams have something to do with Buford."

Reid put down his fork, seeming to steel himself before speaking. "Okay. You mentioned counseling. I remember when you were going through that, I know how hard it was for you. Still, it seems to have been extremely helpful in teaching you how to cognitively work through the psychological and emotional damage that you suffered, and that's great.

"But, you're right, I do know you—and, what I think is that your subconscious mind has put up roadblocks to prevent your emotional core from acknowledging just how badly you were hurt." He stopped, his eyes never leaving Morgan's as he assessed how his words were being received.

Morgan just continued to stare. "Go on," he said grimly.

"I think your subconscious has put up a shield that no one, not a good psychiatrist, not your friends, not even yourself, has been able to get past, because to face it—'it' being the fact that you think you should have somehow been able to prevent what happened to you, no matter how illogical that thought is—to _face_ it, in your mind, means that you're weak. That everything you've done to bring yourself up from that experience has been a fake, because underneath it all, you're still just that skinny, frightened young boy who's letting himself be used." Reid raised an eyebrow, ready for Morgan to react passionately, or perhaps to simply walk out.

But, the older profiler only nodded again.

"Okay. So... what has that got to do with fortune tellers, and wallets being stolen, and a traveling stage show with snakes and puppets, and—"

"You're trying to heal yourself."

"What?"

"Serial dreams seem to be a way for the subconscious to work through something that's incredibly difficult, even forbidden, to deal with in waking life. I believe your mind is telling itself a story in which you're in control, in which you symbolically make things happen the way you so desperately wish they had happened in real life, way back when you were a teen. I can't begin to know what represents what—maybe I represent who you were and your dream-self represents who you wish you'd been, I don't know. But I think all of these events are taking you on a journey to forgiveness."

Morgan's eyes narrowed dangerously._ "To forgiving Buford?"_

"To forgiving _yourself."_ Reid's voice was gentle, but firm. "Anyway, that's what I think is going on," he added tiredly. He pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes and sat back again, feeling depleted.

Morgan didn't say anything. He absently took a bite of a french fry and chewed it, not really tasting it, but needing something to focus on besides the chaotic thoughts crashing around in his mind. Finally, he looked at Reid. "Okay. You're right, I don't like it. But, maybe there's something to what you're saying. If so... What do I do about it?"

Reid shook his head and shrugged. "Let the dreams happen. Let them do their work, and stop worrying." He reached out and put a hand on Morgan's arm. "They're just dreams, Morgan. They can't hurt you. And, maybe once this has run its course, you'll find that they helped."

"I think I liked it better when I thought I had a gay crush on you," Morgan said somberly.

Reid chuckled. "Well, it would be nice to know _someone_ had a crush on me. But, just give it some thought. I'm not saying I'm right—I could be a million miles off. It's just what I think makes sense, based on the information you've given me."

Morgan nodded, now feeling numb. He went back to his food, and the two finished their meals, not speaking until the waiter brought them the check.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello there! This chapter became extremely long—over 6k, jeeze—so I decided to break it up between "real life" Reid and Morgan (Ch. 8) and the dream world (Ch. 9), but I'm posting them at the same time for ease of reading (and reviewing!). Thank you to everyone who's reading and to those who have left such lovely reviews—they mean the world to me!**

**BTW, those of you impatient to have Reid and Morgan get together should be encouraged by this chapter...**

* * *

After dinner, Morgan distractedly said goodnight to Reid and then headed for his hotel room. He felt dazed, as if the ideas Reid had shared with him had crowded out his capacity for reasoned thinking; he needed to be by himself if he was to have any chance of sorting things out in his head.

He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jacket before grabbing the remote and sitting on the bed, back propped against the headboard. He clicked around, not caring what was on, but careful to avoid the news. He didn't want to engage his emotions in the stress-filled lives of strangers; he needed to focus on his own for a change.

What Reid had said made sense, he supposed. He knew he still had issues about his past, plenty of them. But, the dreams... Nothing in them seemed related to anything he'd gone through before. They felt rooted in the present, and were—maybe—offering him glimpses of the future. _Nothing to do with Buford_, he thought grimly. The dreams were about him and Reid, he felt sure of it. But he'd really believed that by facing up to his secret feelings for his friend, they would stop.

Instead, they just seemed to be getting worse, more vivid, more tangible.

Morgan let the TV remote land on a sports channel and eventually, his aggravation at Reid for bringing up Buford faded.

Reid.

_Damn him,_ he thought with a wry chuckle. So fucking smart, so annoying when he went off on one of his tangents, so...

So exactly what he wanted, had wanted for a long time, a longing he'd kept buried deep in his soul. Now that it had finally come to light, he felt well and truly screwed. Now, he couldn't even pretend that the dreams were just some off-the-wall notion coming out to torment him when he was asleep.

No, they were about who he was and what he wanted, whether he liked it or not, and the worst part of it was that there wasn't anything he could do about it. Apparently, Reid wasn't inclined that way, and Morgan couldn't foresee anything for himself but a lifelong emptiness that would burn and itch in the back of his brain, no matter how forcefully he might tamp it down over and over and over again. So, he needed to learn to just put it out of his mind.

But, how?

And, why? What was the point? If he couldn't bring his dreams to reality, why should he keep denying himself some little bit of psychological release, at least?

_Reid._

Morgan began thinking of the younger agent's grin. That was what had gotten to him in the first place, years ago; a pure, boyish look that lit up the kid's face like an incandescent light. He didn't see it often enough, but he'd quickly learned how to coax one out of him, teasing him, ruffling his hair, joking with him. Making Reid grin was addictive, and he wished he were there with him, right now, so he could do it again.

As exhaustion loosened the taut control he kept on his mind, he began imagining what it would be like if Reid were there with him, right then, right now, sitting on the bed next to him.

If Reid were there, he'd, he'd make him laugh, and he'd take his face in his hands and draw him towards him. He'd lean in and, gently, he'd press his lips against the younger man's and he'd kiss him so softly... He'd move to his neck, tasting that velvet flesh, he'd run his tongue over his prominent Adam's apple, down to the cleft between his clavicles, and then he'd push away whatever damn button-down shirt the kid was wearing and he'd nip and suck at the place where his neck and shoulder met.

He'd inhale him, bury his face in his hair, note how soft it was. He'd tangle his fingers in it, pulling just a little more than gently, not enough to hurt, but enough to maybe make him pull back in surprise, and he'd say, "Sorry, pretty boy, there's just something about you that makes me crazy," and then they'd both laugh.

Morgan closed his eyes. He was tired, too tired to reach down and open his pants, but his mind took over and he was soon in a delicious twilight state where he could feel Reid pressing against him, could feel his cock twitching, and then—

A sharp knock on his door jerked him out of his euphoric half-sleep, and he heard a voice say, "Morgan? It's Reid. Are you up?"

"Yeah!" he called, hastily jumping up and heading to the bathroom. "One sec." He splashed cold water over his face and rubbed it dry with a towel, giving his straining erection a chance to calm down. When he was reasonably presentable, he went to open the door. Reid was standing there, looking uncertain.

"Hey. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No—no, I was just watching some TV."

They stood looking at each other until Reid asked, "May I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." Morgan stepped back and let him in the room. He muted the television as Reid stood awkwardly looking around before saying, "I, uh, just wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Oh, you know, for... I shouldn't have just blurted out all that stuff about your dreams. I should have been more sensitive, more diplomatic. It was... very unprofessional of me, and I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

Morgan waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Don't be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong. You know I don't like it when people beat around the bush. There's nothing to apologize for."

Reid had his hands jammed in his pockets and his head tilted slightly to the side, clearly assessing Morgan's statement. He finally seemed to accept his words at face value and nodded. "Okay. Well, I just wanted to make sure. I'll let you get back to your show." He gave a small smile and started to go.

"Reid, wait." Morgan took a deep breath. Maybe he was still in his twilight state, maybe he should make himself shut up, but he couldn't. "Listen... sit down, will you?"

Reid gave a tentative frown, and then sat in a desk chair facing Morgan. "What is it?"

"Okay, look. I hear what you're saying about Buford. Maybe you're right, I guess I have blocked a lot of stuff so I wouldn't have to deal with it, and that's probably not the healthiest thing for me to do. But, I've been doing fine—until lately. These dreams are telling me something, and trust me, kid, I know for a fact that it has nothing to do with Buford." He took a deep breath. "It's you, Reid. It's all about you... and me."

Reid stared at him. He shrugged slightly. "Explain."

"I don't think my attraction to you in the dreams is symbolic of something else because... I feel exactly the same when I'm awake."

Reid's gaze didn't falter, but he seemed to go into suspended animation for a moment before asking, "But, you said you weren't... I mean, wait a minute—you're saying you really _are_ attracted to me?"

Morgan took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm sorry, man, I don't mean to unload this on you, but I can't keep pretending. It's how I feel, and... Don't worry, it's not going to affect anything between us. I'll deal with it, I'll work through it. I just wanted you to know, in case I... you know, pull back or something. So you wouldn't worry. I may take a bunch of time off after this case, and I—"

"Morgan, it's okay."

They were quiet for a little while, and then Morgan asked, "It is?"

"Yeah. I..." Reid dropped his eyes and chewed his lip for a moment, clearly considering his next words carefully. "Actually, I'm not sure where I fall on the Kinsey scale myself." He spoke softly, his voice so low Morgan wasn't sure if he'd heard right.

"Kinsey scale?"

"Yes, it's a rating scale that attempts to express where one falls between exclusively heterosexual and exclusively homosexual responses, and—

"I know what it is, Reid. Are you saying you're, uh... not 100% straight?"

Reid shrugged again, pinching the bridge of his nose as if in pain. "I don't know. Honestly, until you brought all this stuff up, I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, well, of course I've _thought_ about it, I've had my moments, I guess everyone does sooner or later, to one degree or another. In fact, there are a lot of studies that suggest the incidence of same sex attraction is far more—"

"Reid." Morgan was determined to put a stop to the budding ramble and get his friend back on track, and at the sound of his name, Reid caught himself, visibly recalibrating before continuing.

"Sorry. What I meant to say is, I haven't actually gone out and tried to—I mean, it's a facet of my sexuality that I haven't yet allowed myself to examine, you know? I've avoided it for a long time, for a lot of reasons. But, now... I don't know. I guess maybe I'd be more open to the idea of exploring it—if the right, uh, guy came along, and..." He trailed off, already pondering a new line of thought, when he realized that his last remark left certain implications hanging. His eyes grew large, and he hastily added, "I mean, I'm talking about _someday_, maybe, in the future..."

Morgan nodded, that numb feeling coming over him again. "Yeah, right, I get it. That's... that's something to think about. For you. In the future..."

They both sat silently, the room's heating system thrumming away in the background, accentuating the awkwardness they were both drowning in. Then, abruptly, Reid stood up. "Well, I'm pretty beat, I think I better turn in."

Morgan stood up, too. "Yeah, I'm about done for the day myself. Hey—thanks for coming by to check on me."

"Oh, sure. You're welcome." Reid stepped around Morgan, his elbow accidentally brushing Morgan's arm and causing him to jerk away like a pinball. "I, uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Hey, Reid?"

Reid turned back with a questioning look.

Morgan ruefully grimaced. "Listen, things aren't going to be weird between us now, are they?"

Reid paused a moment to consider the question, and then he gave a dismissive shrug. "Oh, I'm sure they will be. But, we'll get through it." A rather cheerful grin suddenly crossed his face, one of those that made Morgan's stomach dip, and Reid raised his hand in goodbye before slipping out the door.

Morgan sank back onto the bed, wondering what the hell his dreams would hold in store for him that night.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So, here's the Derek/Spencer dream world, and I must warn you, the boys get up to some naughty business toward the end of the chapter._ Quite_ naughty. **

* * *

As Derek stared at Spencer, he saw a wracking shudder go through him. It was still cold standing in the heavy gray mist hanging over the clearing, and the boy was wrapped only in a thin blanket, but Derek couldn't help wondering if it was really just the chill that had gotten to him. He put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper, "You go get some clothes on, kid. You'll catch your death out here."

Spencer looked at him, then at Gideon. The older man gestured to Emily, who was standing behind the sheriff. "Emily, where's Hotch?" he asked. "I need help showing the Compendium to Sheriff Rossi."

Everyone turned to look at the dark-haired girl and she glanced around nervously. "Uh—one of the horses threw a shoe. He went to look for it on the road toward town."

"Ah, I see." He turned his gaze to Derek. "Mr. Morgan, I wonder if I could trouble you for a moment? Accessing the Dream Compendium is a two-man job. It requires a bit of muscle, and Mr. Hotchner seems to have disappeared. Would you care to assist me?"

Derek tore his gaze away from Spencer, who still looked as if someone had punched him in the gut. "What?"

"I said, I could use your help with the Compendium." Gideon was smiling benevolently as Sheriff Rossi and his men stood waiting. Derek looked back at Spencer, remembering how upset he'd been before, when Gideon had offered to show him whatever was in the depths of the show wagon. He saw the boy meet Gideon's gaze; for a moment, the two appeared to have shut themselves off from everyone else around them, as if they were wordlessly communicating. But that was ridiculous, Derek thought.

"Spencer?" he asked softly. Spencer looked back at him, some of the color returning to his face, and he nodded slightly, indicating that Derek should go with Gideon and the other men. Derek nodded back and prodded, "Go get dressed, now."

"All right." Spencer gave Gideon one more look before turning and trudging back to his trailer. The rest of the men followed Gideon to the show wagon and watched as he pulled a jangle-y nest of keys out of his pocket, chose one, and then opened a large padlock on the door. He went in and beckoned for Rossi and Derek to come in as well. The two deputies started to follow, but Gideon put up his hand.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but it's a bit close quarters in here. If you'll wait until we reveal the Compendium?"

"That's fine," Rossi said. "You fellows should go visit with the rest of the group anyway. Get names, ask some questions. You know the drill."

The two men obediently turned back, and then Gideon unlocked two more padlocks, one at each end of a partition that, when unlocked, drew up like a roll-top desk. It was huge, though, running the length of the wagon.

"You've got this place locked down like Fort Knox," Rossi commented dryly.

Gideon chuckled. "Well, dreams are irreplaceable things, you know. Have to keep them behind lock and key or they just... disappear."

The wagon had the smell of old wood and resin, with an underlying scent of something sharp and sweet; incense, Morgan realized. He began to have an eerie feeling as he helped roll up the partition, due in part to what he considered to be Gideon's crazy talk, and in part to the fact that the first things he saw revealed were the marionettes Spencer and Penelope had used at the show, as well as several others he hadn't seen before. All of them had faces with garishly painted, grotesque features, and they were all haplessly hung from a pole like dead animals.

On the other end, there were numerous costumes, velvet jackets with brocade trim, some frilly dresses decorated with lace and satin, others made of sleek silk. There were hats of all shapes and sizes on a shelf, and all sorts of props. There was also a set of three drawers in the middle, topped with a framed mirror.

Rossi had an eyebrow cocked, and he pointed at the drawers. "Could I see what's in there, please?"

"Certainly." Gideon pulled the top one open, and showed the sheriff dozens of pots and jars filled with all kinds and colors of different substances.

"What is that stuff?" Rossi asked.

"Face paint, mostly. Fake blood. Hair coloring."

"May I?" Rossi asked, indicating another drawer.

"Be my guest," Gideon said with a smirk.

Rossi pulled it open and Clyde the snake languidly poked his head up, forked tongue slipping in and out of his mouth. Rossi pulled back, startled, but then he laughed. "He supposed to be in there?"

"He usually stays in JJ's wagon, but I suppose she forgot to put him in his cage. He's harmless, but I'll be happy to move him for you."

"No, that's all right. What's in the bottom drawer?"

Gideon obligingly pulled it out. There were a number of tools, odds and ends and several boxes of some sort of powder. "What's that stuff?" Rossi asked.

"It's an incendiary substance that our young magician uses to distract the audience. It can create flashes of light or smoke screens, depending on the mixture."

Rossi nodded, then reached in and pulled out a jar. It had the word "Poison" on it, along with a skull and crossbones. He gave Gideon a skeptical look. "And this?"

"Rat poison."

"And, what do you use that for?"

"Rats," Gideon said mildly. "Sometimes they take up residence in here. They chew things and make a mess—we have to get rid of them somehow, you know. Clyde's useless."

Rossi nodded again, then stepped back and looked up and around the space. "Why do you call this a Dream Compendium?" he asked, a puzzled frown on his face.

Gideon shrugged. "What are dreams, Sheriff? Thoughts, wishes, ideas, memories... My wonderful troupe uses these props to bring their dreams to life for people who have far too few of their own, or too few good ones, at least. They capture them and keep them here until needed." Gideon fingered a feather boa and grinned. "What are your dreams, Sheriff? Have any to spare?" He looked at a spot above Rossi's head and suddenly reached out as if to snatch something from the air. He made a show of cradling it in his hands and then neatly dropping it— "it" being absolutely nothing—into the drawer.

Rossi and Derek exchanged glances, and then something glinting on the floor caught Rossi's eye. "What's that?" He leaned down and reached under a small table, gingerly bringing out a hunting knife by the handle. The blade was stained and rusted, apparently by blood. "Is this yours, Mr. Gideon?"

"No. I've never seen it before." Gideon's taunting expression had changed to one of seriousness. "Mr. Morgan, you were in here last night. Is that yours?"

"No!" Derek said, startled at being brought into the conversation.

Gideon shrugged. "Perhaps it belongs to Mr. Breitkopf."

Rossi was staring intently at the showman. He nodded. "Perhaps. I'll take it to his wife and see if she can identify it." He carefully wrapped the knife in a cloth and put it in his coat pocket, and then turned to face Derek. "So, you were in here last night as well?"

"Uh, yeah," Derek answered.

"May I have your name?" The sheriff brought out a little notebook.

"Derek Morgan. Look, I—"

"What is your position with this outfit?"

"Nothing! I mean, I'm friends with one of the actors—"

"The magician," Gideon corrected smoothly.

"Yeah. I just... I don't know anything about this 'compendium' or anything else, much."

"Who did you see going into the show wagon last night, Mr. Morgan?" Rossi asked.

"Just the troupe. Hotch, Emily, all of them."

"Anyone else?"

Derek looked at Gideon, who tipped his head encouragingly. "I saw a man—white guy, tall, thin, middle-aged. He went in with Gideon, and after a short time, came out again. That's all I saw."

"You didn't speak to him?"

"No."

"You _did_ see him leave?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah, I just said I did," Derek responded irritably.

"Which way was he headed?"

"South. Toward the woods."

Rossi nodded, made some notes, and then put away his notebook. "All right, gentlemen. That's all I have for now. But, until we find Mr. Breitkopf, I'd appreciate it if you didn't go anywhere. Any of you," he said, first fixing Derek with a stern glance, then gesturing toward the outside and the rest of the crew.

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible, we have to keep moving if we're to make it to Florida before the bad weather comes upon us," Gideon said.

"This is a small town, Mr. Gideon. I'm sure Frank will turn up soon—one way or another. Let's just sit tight for a bit. I'd... feel better about it." Rossi's mouth slid into a benign smile, but his eyes held no humor at all. He then stepped out of the wagon to consult with his men.

* * *

Spencer stepped back into his trailer, shivering. He was a sticky mess from the night's activities with Derek, so he wet a cloth and cleaned himself up, and then hastily dressed, grateful for his warm clothes. All of his energy had been sapped by his mental conversation with Gideon; he'd been assured that it was a skill that would become easier in time, but he was still learning and it took an enormous amount of concentration.

It didn't help that he was worried half to death.

Gideon's dealings had never attracted the attention of a local sheriff before, and even though he'd assured Spencer that he had everything under control, Spencer couldn't help but worry that somehow things had gone too far this time.

And, he didn't want Derek involved in any of it. He'd been a fool to ask him to join the troupe; he should have let things go as he'd originally planned when he was merely seeking a quick diversion, a little sex with a beautiful man that he'd thought he'd never see again. He hadn't expected to fall in love, and he certainly hadn't expected to be fallen in love _with,_ if that was really what was happening here.

But, as much as he wanted Derek Morgan in his life, he wasn't going to let him get mixed up with Gideon's business. He wasn't like the rest of them, hadn't seen the things they had, and, even if he came to understand everything, it probably wouldn't be good for his health.

He looked out his window and watched the sheriff's deputies as they spoke first to Emily, then JJ, and then Penelope. Hotch strode up and he was interviewed, too. Spencer supposed he'd be next, so he stepped outside, pulling on his jacket as he went.

He steeled himself as the two strangers came over to him.

"What's your name, son?" one of the deputies asked.

"Spencer Reid."

"What's your job with this crew?"

"I'm a performer. I do magic tricks and such."

"Do you recognize this man? Did you see him last night?" The deputy held up a daguerreotype of a slim, handsome older man posed standing behind a seated woman.

Spencer looked at the image; another chill went through him, but he raised his eyes to the deputy unflinchingly. "No, I'm sorry, I don't recognize him," he answered truthfully.

"Did you see anyone besides members of your troupe enter the wagon last night?"

Spencer shook his head.

"Did Mr. Gideon say anything about a stranger coming in there?"

"No."

"What about that other guy—Morgan, I think his name is? Did he mention a Mr. Breitkopf to you?"

Spencer frowned. Why the hell were they interested in Derek? "No. I'm sorry, I wish I could help, but I don't know anything about this," he said, pointing at the picture. "I didn't see anything. I was really busy with the show."

The deputy made a note and nodded. "All right. Thank you." He and his partner walked off to wait for Rossi.

Spencer looked toward the show wagon; just then, the door opened and the sheriff came out, followed by Derek and Gideon. Gideon locked the door behind him, and Derek headed over to join Spencer.

A surge of joy came over the young man, and he immediately wished it away, but to no avail. The sight of his lover walking towards him made him happy, and there was nothing he could do about it. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in Derek's strong warm arms and forget about the missing man, the sheriff, and Gideon's damn business.

"Hey," he said uncertainly; Derek had a stormy look on his face. He jerked his head toward Spencer's door, and the two of them went inside.

"What's wrong?" Spencer asked.

"Your goddamn boss just about got me implicated in this Breitkopf situation, and now the sheriff's got my name on his list. Plus, I'm likely going to miss my train this afternoon because he's not letting any of us leave town until they find the poor fucker."

"Oh, gosh," Spencer said weakly.

"I guess that's what you wanted, though, isn't it?" Derek narrowed an eye and pointed accusingly. "Did you put him up to this? Did you happen to 'magically' plant a bloody knife in the show wagon?" he demanded.

A shocked look crossed Spencer's face."What! No! What knife? I-I don't know anything about a knife!" As the accusation sunk in, Spencer pressed his lips together, nostrils flaring. "You really think I'd risk getting you in trouble with the law just so I could keep you around? That's nice, Derek, that's real nice. Great to know how much you trust me."

"Well, you did steal my wallet to get me to come back to you."

"Hardly the same thing."

Derek's ire seemed to ebb away, and he swiped a hand over his scalp. "I'm sorry, kid. Everything's just so... This place is getting to me, I guess. That Gideon's an odd duck. I don't like him." He stepped closer to Spencer and put his hands on his shoulders. "I don't like the idea of you being mixed up with him, either. Or with this show, or that... that 'dream compendium.' It's just weird, that's all. I want you to go away with me."

Spencer sighed, a tired, bruised sound. "I told you, I can't. I'm sorry. And..." He drew himself up and looked into Derek's eyes; he knew the words would come hard for him, but better to let Derek think his feelings had changed than to tell him he was trying to protect him. He'd never go for that at all.

"And, for your information, I've changed my mind. I don't want you coming with us after all." He impatiently pushed a strand of hair away from his face and said, "I think we should just... be glad we met. We had a good time; the sex was exceptional. But, that's it. We need to go our own ways now." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash Hotch had given him. "Oh, and don't worry about missing your train. If you do, I'll pay for another ticket."

Derek's mouth set into a grim line. _What the hell?_ "So, that's it? I piss you off, and all of a sudden, you're done with me?"

"No, I'm done because we've reached the end." They stood staring intently at one another, and then Spencer added, "You should go back to your hotel now. No point in dragging this out." He turned and went to sit on his bed, trembling a bit from controlling his emotions.

Derek felt heat rising up from his gut, flooding his chest and neck. It wasn't anger; it was hot desperation, the feeling of air being sucked from his lungs. He couldn't lose him, he couldn't._ Damn it, he'd just found him..._

Derek strode the few steps to Spencer's side, swept him into his arms and kissed him in a fiery combustion, his mouth claiming the youth's for his own. Spencer struggled and whimpered against him, but after a moment, he gave in and kissed back until they were both wrung out. "What are you doing?" Spencer asked brokenly as he pulled away.

"I got news for you, pretty boy—I'm not leaving you. You can't make me. If you won't go with me, I'll go with you, you and your goddamn crazy show."

"No, Derek—"

"Don't tell me 'no!' It won't do any good. I'll buy me a nag and follow on horseback if I have to, but I'm not letting you go, hear me?" The fire was back in his voice. "You belong to me, and I to you. I don't know how, I don't know why, but that's the way it is, and you can't change it. _You_ can't change it, and I don't want to. Understand?"

Spencer blinked, a thousand thoughts colliding in his mind, but then somehow a sense of peace came over him and his fears disappeared. After a moment, he nodded and gave a wobbly smile. "I understand."

"Good. Now, move over. Looks like nobody's going anywhere for a while, and I'm getting back in this bed. You can join me if you want." Derek irritably pulled off his shirt and trousers and climbed naked into the bed.

Spencer watched him, his smile strengthening into a broad grin. "Yes, sir." He shucked off his clothes as well and slid under the covers into Derek's waiting arms. Derek resumed kissing him and then he ran a hand down to Spencer's cock, stroking it into full erection. He wrapped his hand around it and his own as well, squeezing them together, and with a chuckle said, "Now, that's a pretty sight."

Spencer laughed softly, and then thrust into Derek's hand as he kissed him. "Fuck me, Derek." His voice had the same raspy tone he'd had a few hours earlier, after he'd cried out Derek's name over and over again.

Derek made a put-upon noise. "Didn't you get enough of that last night?"

Spencer solemnly shook his head.

"Boy, you're going to wear me out." Derek had him cradled against himself; he was amazed at how perfectly he fit. It was so warm under the covers, so comfortable nestled into the deep soft feather mattress with his lover in his arms that it was a shame to spoil the moment, but Spencer's plea was so tempting—and, who was he to refuse such a heartfelt request? He smiled. "Oh, all right, baby. Turn over."

Spencer flipped over onto his stomach, lying flat on the bed. Derek gave one cheek a smart smack and admonished, "Hey, lazy, none of that. Hike that cute little ass up into the air for me." Spencer rather liked the tingle that Derek's hand had left and he considered disobeying in hopes of getting another good smack, but he went ahead and raised up, spreading his legs and tipping his pelvis to give Derek easy access.

Derek squeezed his bottom as he shifted behind him, and then his cheeks were gently parted, but instead of being probed by a sticky-wet cock head as expected, he felt something strange, new—and utterly delicious. "Derek?" he gasped as he turned his head to look behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Tasting you, baby." Derek lapped at the crinkled little hole, teasing little warm wet licks at first, then one long, shudder-inducing stripe that started at Spencer's balls and slid up, ending with Derek's tongue lazily caressing his entrance. Spencer shivered and moaned.

"Fuck," he said shakily.

"You okay?"

"I'm gonna come," he said.

"Oh, no, angel, not yet. Not until I'm in you."

"Then, you better give me a minute." Spencer took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on anything other than the fact that his balls felt like they were about to explode. "Okay, go ahead," he said, once he got himself back in control.

Derek chuckled, pleased. He liked taking Spencer to the edge like this, liked making him forget himself. "Hasn't anybody ever done this for you before?"

"No," Spencer said, sounding half-strangled. "Jesus, they will from now on, though."

Derek reared back and gave Spencer a swift, smart swat on one bare cheek, bringing forth an appreciative yelp from his lover. _"'They?'" _Derek spat indignantly. "There better not be any 'they' from now on, understand? It's me, just me."

"Yes, sir!" Spencer gasped happily. "Just you. Only you..."

Derek grinned. "That's better." Satisfied, he settled back and resumed his delightful task, alternating long, wet laps along his perineum with giving each of Spencer's balls a deep but gentle suck. He went back to laving at his entrance, producing the most erotic chorus of moans and whimpers that Derek had ever heard.

"Derek, please," Spencer finally said weakly. "You're driving me insane. I need you inside me."

"Aw, poor baby, you need me to fill your sweet little hole?"

"God, yes..."

"All right." Derek knelt, reached for the oil and generously coated his member. He pulled Spencer's hips upward to meet his and guided himself inside, penetrating him with a single hard, deep thrust. Spencer cried out at the sensation, took a moment to adjust, and then wriggled around until he found the best angle to begin eagerly fucking himself back onto Derek's cock.

Derek thrust into him hard and fast, loving the feeling of being inside his lover's lithe body. He gripped the skinny hips, breathed in the scent of lamp oil, sweat and sex; he felt cocooned by the small, dim space, and for a long, perfect moment, he felt complete.

* * *

Derek was still deep inside Spencer when the door opened. Penelope stuck her head in and trilled, "Sweeties, when you're done with your sinful debauchery, come over to the campfire and eat breakfast. We're having pancakes!" She winked happily at the still-panting pair and left.

"I'll never get used to that," Derek sighed, pulling out and rolling onto his back.

Spencer was still recovering from the most intense orgasm he'd ever had in his life, but he managed to say, "Oh, you will. Happens all the time." He too lay back, and Derek sat up and pulled him into his arms.

"Doesn't matter. I guess I can put up with just about anything, if it means I get to be with you." He planted a kiss onto the top of Spencer's head before crawling over him and reaching for his pants. "Anyway, I can forgive her under the circumstances—I'm starving." He got up and put on his clothes, and then waited by the door for Spencer.

Spencer's own stomach was growling by now, and he didn't waste any time getting dressed; as it was for most teenagers, his appetite was a force unto itself.

He paused to watched Derek stride toward the campfire, and he smiled. He knew nothing mattered but that the two of them stay together.

Nothing could tear them apart.

Spencer would make sure of it.


	10. Napping In the Library

**A/N: So sorry to take so long to update! This is a pretty long chapter, so maybe that'll make up for it. Thank you to everyone reading, and thank you for the faves and follows and, of course, reviews! **

**Not much in the way of warnings, just a bit of gory imagery and sexy talk... **

* * *

Waking up from a sex dream had always been one of Morgan's favorite ways to start the day—if he was waking up alone, at least. Unfortunately, for the last several days, waking up from a sex dream involving Spencer Reid had put a confusing and disturbing twist on something he normally found to be pretty damned enjoyable.

But this time, it felt good.

In his half-awake state, he ran over the conversation he'd had with Reid the evening before, and a smile crossed his face. _Reid hadn't rejected him._ Hadn't fallen all over himself apologizing for not being who and what Morgan needed, hadn't stared at him with a worried expression, wondering how the hell he was going to escape from Morgan's hotel room without making him feel bad.

Hadn't said no.

He had, in fact, said_ maybe._

It wasn't much, but it was something, and Morgan thought he could live with that, at least for a while.

And this time, this morning, he didn't bother reaching for his dream journal; so what if his dream world held some strange foreboding of troubles yet to come—they were just dreams. Morgan felt too good and warm and itchily-aroused to worry about it, and he took his cock in his hand and finished off what his randy subconscious had already started. He came hard, and then lay sprawled naked across the bed on his back, panting.

When he was somewhat recovered, he glanced at the clock and judged that he had twenty minutes to jump in the shower, dress, and arrive at the downstairs conference room in time to join the team for their morning meeting. He forced himself to stand up and push his lethargic body into high gear.

But, when he entered the meeting room, the only person there was Prentiss.

"Don't tell me I'm early for once," he said, pulling out a chair.

Prentiss didn't glance up from the newspaper she had open on the table in front of her. "No, hell's not frozen over just yet." She then caught his eye and grinned a welcome before adding, "Hotch called to let me know he spoke to Garcia—there haven't been any new developments in the case, so he took Rossi on a side trip to LA for a consultation. They'll be back around 5:00."

"Okay, and what are _you_ up to on this fine lovely day?"

"JJ and I are going to pick up where we left off interviewing family members, but Henry had a meltdown this morning, so she's on the phone with him and Will, trying to restore sanity."

Morgan started to sit, but noticed a coffee service laid out on a side counter, and he turned to go pour himself a cup. "What about Reid?"

"He said the lady at the library called while he was in the shower. He called her back, but by then she was on the other line, so now they're playing phone tag." She shrugged, took a sip from a styrofoam cup and then gave Morgan an inquisitive look. "By the way, since we have a minute to ourselves, I've been meaning to ask you—how's the dream world going?"

Morgan laughed slightly as he set the coffee pot back on the burner. "It's going. In fact, it's crazier than ever." He returned to the conference table, stirring a packet of sugar into his cup. "But, I guess I've kind of quit worrying about it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"You mean, you've come to terms with having a secret dreamworld fling with the boy genius?"

Morgan sighed. "Yeah. And, actually, it's not a secret anymore."

Prentiss' brow shot up. "Really? You told him?"

Morgan nodded.

"Well, what did he say?"

"He was... okay with it."

Now, Prentiss leaned forward, frowning a little. "_Really?_ He didn't freak out, or—"

"No. He said... Well, let's just say, the possibility of the two of us getting together—someday, in the future—wasn't totally ruled out." He gave a sheepish grin and clutched his coffee cup with both hands as he blew across the top to cool it.

Prentiss was now staring at him, mouth open. "So, the two of you are—"

Morgan put his hands up in a "halt" gesture. "Whoa-whoa-whoa, now, chill out! It's not like he threw himself into my arms or anything. Like I said, he just... didn't rule it out."

"Wow..." She pondered the thought for a moment, then added, "You know, I'm going to go out and find some hot, highly unattainable guy and start having wacky dreams about him. Maybe I won't have to attend my mom's next dinner party alone."

"Come on, Princess. This isn't a big deal. We just had a nice heart-to-heart conversation, that's all. Nothing'll probably ever come of it, but I feel better being honest with him—and being honest with myself. Now, let's drop it, okay?"

Prentiss squinted at him. "Huh. You do seem oddly relaxed this morning. I—" She started to say something else, but Reid strolled into the meeting room, coffee cup in hand. He nodded at each of his teammates. "Morning."

"Hey," they both answered.

"Well, I heard from Imelda Reyes, the librarian. She found the papers I was looking for, and has them ready for me to go through. There's a lot, though, and I could definitely use some help." He gave Prentiss an expectant look over his coffee cup, but she shook her head.

"Aw, I'm sorry—JJ and I are doing family interviews, and Dave and Hotch went to LA," Prentiss answered—unnecessarily quickly, Morgan thought, throwing a glare in her direction.

"Oh." Reid turned his gaze to Morgan. "All right, well, will you go with me then?"

"Uh—sure, kid. Although, I don't know what good I'll be—you're the one that reads 20,000 words a minute."

"That's okay. You can help keep the files organized and liaise with Garcia if we come up with something," Reid said—a little condescendingly, Morgan thought, suppressing a grin. _As usual. That's good._ He caught Prentiss' smirk and he rolled his eyes at her before standing up.

"I guess we should get a move on," he said. He could tell Reid was in his "hot on the trail" mode and couldn't wait to get at those documents. The younger man swallowed a mouthful of coffee as he nodded enthusiastically.

"Great! See you later, Emily."

"Bye, guys. I hope you find something."

"Me, too," Morgan said, raising his cup in farewell.

The two men went out to the SUV; Morgan took the wheel and they headed for the library. It was a short trip, too short for a real conversation, but they each made small talk just to fill in the silence, and Morgan was surprised at how easy it was to pretend that the discussion from last night had never happened.

* * *

The librarian, Miss Reyes, had set up a folding table in a corner of a back office for Reid's use, with boxes labeled by year stacked neatly beside it. "Dr. Reid, just so you know, these boxes include Dr. Bannister's personal papers as well as his research. When he died, the university just packed up everything per the professor's request, and they didn't bother to pick through it. There could be anything in there, bank statements, grocery lists... who knows?"

"Aw, man..." Morgan regarded the boxes with a dismayed expression, but Reid seemed positively delighted.

"Thank you, Miss Reyes, this is excellent. There's bound to be something in here we can use."

"Yeah, if we had a couple of months to go through it all," Morgan groused in the background. "Or years."

"Well, good luck with it," Miss Reyes said as she left the room.

Reid had already claimed a desk chair and quickly had a stack of files positioned on the table to his left, with a local area topological map and the case file on his right. "Oh, come on. We can get through this by the end of the day. Here, start on these..."

Morgan took the proffered files with a sneer and dropped into an over-stuffed wingback chair in the corner. He pulled a footstool into position and settled in, putting his feet up for comfort. "And, what, exactly, is it that I'm looking for?" he asked.

"Anything having to do with Native American rituals or mention of local tribes. Descriptions of nearby geological formations. Also, keep an eye out for any of the victims' surnames. You know, the usual."

Morgan nodded wearily, opened a file, and began reading. It was soon apparent that he'd be struggling to keep his eyes open.

* * *

Madam Emily handed Derek a tin plate filled with buttered pancakes covered with maple syrup and a side of thick-cut bacon, and then gestured at a large coffee pot suspended over the coals of the camp fire. He nodded his thanks, noting the young woman had a somewhat uneasy manner about her, as if something was troubling her greatly. But she broke into a grin when Spencer came up and wrapped his arms around her from behind and said with a thick fake French accent, _"Bonjour, Madame!Mon Dieu, votre derriere est tres bonne. C'est magnifique! "_

"Thanks, sweetie, I'm glad you like my ass. What's got you in such a cheerful mood? Oh, wait, I think I know," Emily said as she gave Derek a knowing wink. "I take it you two got a restful night's sleep?"

"I wouldn't call it restful, but it was wonderful. Derek's amazing," Spencer said blissfully as he released Emily from his grasp. He then went to Derek and nuzzled into his neck. "He's joining our crew, by the way."

"Are you really?" Emily asked, turning to Derek.

"Uh—yeah." He slipped an arm around Spencer's waist and squeezed him affectionately. "He won't go with me, so looks like I'm going to have to stay here with him."

By now, JJ and Penelope had joined them and they overheard Spencer's announcement. All three ladies whooped with delight. "Now, that is wonderful news," Emily said, resting her arm over Derek's shoulder. "How do you feel about threesomes?" she purred.

"Not really my cup of tea, ma'am, but thank you," Derek said lightly. "I've kind of got my hands full with this one, anyway." He gestured ruefully at Spencer, who hastened to insert himself between Derek and Emily.

"Yeah, Em. I plan to keep him busy enough for the both of us, so scram."

Emily laughed, but her good humor was cut short when Hotch strode up, an especially dour expression on his face. She walked over to him and the two of them began speaking in whispers.

Derek found a log to use as a seat and settled down to eat his breakfast, motioning for Spencer to sit next to him. He watched the couple's surreptitious conversation and then turned to Spencer to ask, "What's all that about?"

Spencer had just taken a bite of pancake but he stopped mid-chew and became still, listening. Derek didn't know how he could possibly overhear what Emily and Hotch were saying, but his cheery disposition faded. He finished his mouthful of food and shook his head. "He couldn't find him."

Derek frowned. "Who?"

"The missing man. Breitkopf."

Derek swallowed down some steaming hot coffee. "Not his job to find him, is it?"

"He should have gone home by now. Should be with his wife," Spencer muttered, almost to himself.

Derek stared at the young man, a worried feeling coming over him. They finished eating in silence, and then Penelope came and sat down next to Spencer. She handed him a stained canvas sack.

"Here, honeybee. When you're done with breakfast, you need to go out and check your traps or we're not going to have any dinner."

"Traps?" Derek asked.

"Rabbit traps. Snares, actually." Spencer said, nodding at Penelope. "I know, I know. I'm going. Just let me finish my coffee." The boy took a hasty swig of the thick grog and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He gave Derek a peck on the cheek. "I'll be back in a little while."

"Hold on there, junior, I'll go with you." Derek took a last bite of bacon, stood up, and stretched. "Could use a little walk, feels like I'm moving through sand."

"Okay, but it's more than a 'little walk.' In fact, it's kind of rough going. You sure those fine shoes of yours can handle it?" Spencer said, his impish grin reminding Derek of the circumstances of their first meeting. He laughed.

"Aw, hell yeah. Doesn't sound like I'm going to need 'em to look good, working for a gypsy caravan."

"Yeah, well, trust me—you'll be wanting heavy boots before too long."

Derek shrugged and carried his and Spencer's plates to where a large pot of water was being heated for dish-washing purposes. When he turned back he saw that Spencer had already begun scampering ahead, leaving camp and heading into the woods.

Derek resolutely followed him.

* * *

"Let's see—the last one should be right over here." Two of Spencer's traps had yielded nice, fat rabbits, and Derek had dropped them into the sack and slung it over his shoulder. He noticed the boy had relaxed considerably since overhearing Hotch and Emily's conversation and was now solely intent on the task at hand.

They picked their way through a thick tangle of brambles, their eyes on the nasty vines in front of them, and, unaccustomed to navigating in the deep woods, Derek fell back several paces. A vine seemed determined to wrap itself around his arm and he got scratched as he tried to free himself, cursing under his breath. He was about to resort to pulling out a pocket knife when he heard Spencer cry out.

"Spencer! Are you all right? Where are you?" Derek hurriedly made his way through, paying no attention to his scratched, stinging hands. He came around a stand of trees and found Spencer standing stock still, staring upward. Derek followed his gaze and saw the man he recognized as Frank Breitkopf slackly hanging from a rope tied to the branch of a huge old oak tree.

"Aw, shit." Derek started to go to the man, but Spencer pulled him back.

"No, Derek! He's dead, there's nothing you can do for him."

"I can take him down, carry him back for his wife to bury—"

"No. Leave him. He did this to himself, but do you want the sheriff getting the idea one of us had something to do with it?"

Derek studied the youth's impassioned expression. "Why would he think that?"

"I don't know, it's just a feeling I have, but think about it—we're an acting troupe passing through town, it's not like we have the best reputation to begin with. Plus, Breitkopf was last seen with Gideon at our show. Elected lawmen always like to show the voters what a good job they're doing catching criminals. What difference does it make to them if we're guilty or not?"

Derek looked back at the hanged man. "How do you know he did it to himself?"

Spencer motioned at the soft bare ground under the shade of the tree. "Look. There's only one set of footprints."

"Huh, good point." Derek stood watching the body sway slightly with the breeze. "What the hell would make a man do something like that?"

Spencer shrugged and shook his head. "Who knows? That's not our problem." He strode over to a small pile of brush where he'd located his snare. A dead rabbit lay there, and Spencer collected it and put it in the sack. "Come on, let's go." He saw Derek staring up at the dead man. "I mean it, Derek—forget about him."

"Seems wrong, to just leave him... dangling there."

"They'll find him soon enough."

Derek gave Spencer a perplexed look. "How?"

"The buzzards'll tell them." Spencer gave Breitkopf a last dour look, and then began heading back to camp. Derek shuddered at the thought of the scavenger birds picking at the pitifully limp body, but he reluctantly turned and went after Spencer.

* * *

Gideon was getting antsy. Staying in one place for more than a few nights went against his nature, and being forced to stay by edict of the local sheriff was particularly galling to him. He sat on the steps of the Compendium, idly whittling at a twig. He looked up when Spencer and Derek came back into camp.

Spencer presented the rabbits to Penelope and then strode up to Gideon. "I need to talk to you," he said in a grim tone.

"Something's happened," Gideon said softly.

"I'll say," Derek snapped, although he wasn't sure why he felt such a rush of disgust toward the older man. Just echoing Spencer's attitude, maybe.

"Well, come inside." Gideon stood and opened the door to the caravan, inviting them in.

But Penelope called to Spencer, "Oh, Mr. Magic-hands, I could use your help with our future dinner! Do you really expect me to prepare these little guys all by myself?"

"Just a minute, Pen!" Spencer said irritably. "I have to talk to Gideon!"

Gideon motioned Spencer away. "Go ahead, help Penelope. I'm sure Derek can fill me in on whatever it is that's got you so agitated."

Spencer shot him a dark look and started to say something, but he must have thought better of it, as he turned and slowly headed back to where Penelope was standing.

Gideon ushered Derek into the Compendium.

"So, I take it your walk in the woods landed you more than just a few rabbits?" Gideon asked as he pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket.

"You could say that. We found Breitkopf—at the end of a rope."

"Oh? Dead?"

"Yeah—he hung himself, apparently."

"Interesting. Well, he did seem troubled. Probably did the world a favor by departing from it." He put the stogie in his mouth, lit a match, and held it to the end, drawing in the flame determinedly.

Derek looked at the wall which hid the acting troupe's props and costumes from the rest of the caravan. "Everybody knows he was in here that night, and that you spoke to him. What I want to know is, why'd he come in here in the first place? And, what did you say to him?"

"Well. It was a private conversation, and, forgive my bluntness, but it's really none of your business." A thick stream of smoke escaped through Gideon's nostrils and wafted throughout the caravan.

"Maybe not. But, I bet you the sheriff's going to ask you the same questions."

Gideon smiled quizzically. "I'm sure he will. And, I'm going to ask him the same question I'm about to ask you—what possible difference could our conversation have made?"

"I don't know. All I know is the guy went missing after talking to you, and now he's dead by his own hand. I think that's a little odd."

"Words don't kill, Mr. Morgan. And, I'm certainly not a persuasive enough speaker to talk someone into committing suicide."

"Maybe you used something more than words."

"Oh, please—do you seriously think I had something to do with Mr. Breitkopf's decision? How could I possibly? What do you think I am, a wizard?"

"I don't know what the hell you are. But, there's something strange about you, about... all of this. I don't get it, but you..." He waved a hand at the partition, thinking of the drawers filled with little bottles and pots and jars, and a startling thought came to him. "Wait a minute—did you _give_ him something? Some kind of potion that made him crazy?"

That made Gideon laugh out loud. "A potion? My God! I think_ you_, sir, are the crazy one. But, I'll indulge you. Let's say I was so clever as to know how to make such a potion, and that I somehow induced Mr. Breitkopf to take it—why in the world would I do that?"

Derek stood staring into Gideon's coal black eyes. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Maybe you knew him." Derek detected a tiny shift of interest in Gideon's expression. Encouraged, he asked, "You _did_ know him, didn't you? Did he do something to you—did you want revenge?"

Gideon's face seemed to darken, and his eyes took on a silvery cast. "I'd never met the man before that day. And even if I had, even if there was a score to settle—I'm not an executioner. That's not my place. I only... judge."

"What do you mean?"

Gideon sighed. "You know, if you're truly to be part of our company, you need to understand a few things, in spite of young Spencer's protestations. What do you think, Mr. Morgan—is it time to dream?"

"What?" Derek asked, bewildered.

"Do you want to know the secret of the Compendium? You do, don't you?" Gideon said, a fresh smile brightening his face. "What goes on in here, after a show? When the amazed locals poke their heads in, wanting more... It's been driving you crazy, hasn't it? I know it has." He turned and ran a hand over the rolling wall, his fingertips caressing it. "What's really behind this partition? Just a bunch of worn old clothes, garish makeup, and ugly puppets. Right?" He looked over his shoulder at Derek. "Do you want to see, Mr. Morgan? Do you want to know the secret?"

Derek nodded, a slow, almost painful gesture. He thought of Spencer's panic when he'd seen Derek in the Compendium before... But, that had been ridiculous. It was just a show wagon, full of the tools of illusion.

"Give me a hand, please." Gideon opened the locks and then he and Derek leaned down in order to roll up the partition. But, as Derek pulled and pushed the heavy divider up and out of the way, he began to feel lightheaded. The cigar smoke smelled foul, the room had became hot and stuffy, and he felt his breath go out of him. His vision began to blur.

He blinked furiously as he gasped, and then the air chilled and he felt as if he were falling. He closed his eyes tightly, reaching out to grab onto something solid, but he felt nothing, even though he knew the props and costumes were easily within arm's reach. But, when he opened his eyes, they were gone.

Everything was gone—Gideon, the caravan, the shelves and clothes and marionettes. Instead, he found himself in a forest clearing, much like the one he and Spencer had come upon when they found Breitkopf earlier. He looked around frantically and tried to call out, but his voice didn't work. Then, he saw Breitkopf himself, standing in the distance. Derek found himself walking, although his feet didn't seemed to move a step. As he approached the man, he could see a woman lying at his feet, her hands bound behind her, her face bruised and her clothing bloodied.

And, he could see that Breitkopf had a knife.

Derek watched in horror as he raised it, a sickly-pleased smile on his face, and he plunged it into her chest. The woman screamed, and Breitkopf pulled the knife out of her and stabbed her again, this time in her belly. The poor woman tried to scramble away, managing to turn over onto her side, but Breitkopf drove the knife into her ribs, then between her shoulders. He pushed her onto her back and stood over her, staring down with that same sick smile on his face.

He seemed to take pleasure in watching the terror in her eyes.

Now, Derek couldn't move, and somehow he felt himself melting, melting into the woman, dissolving into her body until he _was_ her, and now it was he who was on his back immobilized, staring up at his murderer. He watched Breitkopf raise his knife again, saw the glint of steel, saw the look in his eyes, and he felt his blood spewing, felt his heart give out as the blade slashed through his throat.

His vision turned to black and the falling sensation came over him again. Then, he was aware that he was still in the Compendium and everything was as it had been before, the puppets, the costumes, the shelves and drawers, and Gideon was still standing beside him, smiling.

Derek was shaking, his breath coming fast and ragged. He turned slowly and faced the older man. His throat was sore and it hurt to talk, but he gasped out, "What the... What the hell... was that?"

The door to the caravan was torn open and Spencer came in, panting as if he'd been running. "Derek!" he cried.

Only then did Derek realize he'd been screaming.

* * *

The morning stretched into the noon hour, and at some point, Morgan did fall asleep. He'd tried hard not to, but the librarian's office was warm and a little stuffy, and the easy chair was extra-soft and comfortable, and he was so tired...

At first, he'd been careful to sort between personal notes and papers—including old calendars, envelopes full of receipts, and more than a few long overdue bills—and the academic stuff, but after a while, he settled into reading the interminable documents that Reid wanted him to go through. These were not only boring, but they contained geological terminology he wasn't familiar with, most of which seemed only to serve to describe a vast variety of rocks. Really big rocks.

He tried to keep his eyes open, but all the talk of asthenospheres and batholiths and caliche eventually did him in, and he slid seamlessly into his bizarre, and now seriously disturbing, dream world.

"Oh, wow..." Reid's voice penetrated Morgan's deep sleep and he roused himself into an upright position. He felt shaky from the dream, and it took him a moment to convince himself he was actually awake and that the librarian's office was his true reality, and not a gypsy caravan filled with acrid cigar smoke. His lips moved for a few seconds without words coming out, but he finally managed to rasp, "Huh? What? Did you find something?"

"Yeah, I... I think so. You okay? You sound out of breath."

"I'm fine. What've you got?" Morgan swiped a hand over his face and cleared his throat before standing and going to lean over Reid's shoulder.

"Look at this." Reid handed him a paper, the first half of which was filled with archeological descriptions and more unfamiliar rock-terms, but the last paragraph caught Morgan's eye.

"'Interestingly, based on these artifacts, it is believed that a small local indigenous population considered the shadow formed by the meeting of these two particular formations to be a holy place with healing properties, and that they gathered there often to pray.'"

"Okay—so?"

Reid pointed at the map. "According to the coordinates, that site is exactly where the unsub's been dumping the bodies. Now, read this." Reid grabbed another folder and pulled out another sheet of paper. He pointed to a paragraph he had placed a sticky note beside. Morgan read it, his brow furrowing as he went along.

"Let me get this straight—this local tribe just disappeared sometime in the 1850s? What happened to them?"

"This." Reid handed him yet another paper. Morgan read it and shook his head.

"Okay, this mentions some guy named Joseph Bannister—he's related to our professor, I guess?"

"Yeah, he's Alexander Bannister's great-grandfather, apparently."

"Huh. So, Bannister led a group in search of gold to the area. They set up camp, but it was rough going for them, especially since Bannister was using the group's provisions to do some underhanded trading in order to put cash in his own pocket, but when his men came to him with the accusation, he convinced them that the natives were stealing from them. They made a plan—they waited until the tribe met at the shadow of the two peaks and slaughtered them. Shit."

"I'll bet Dr. Bannister's obsession with studying this area stemmed from that incident. Maybe he hoped to prove history wrong?"

"Or... Maybe he wanted to atone for it." Morgan was frowning, deep in thought.

"Morgan, if you're thinking he had something to do with the murders, I think I should point out—Dr. Bannister died eighteen months ago. The first victim disappeared less than a year ago."

"Okay. But, I came across something in his personal stuff that mentioned a Mark Bannister—hold on." Morgan went back to his chair and dug through a box, bringing out an envelope. "Yeah. This is a letter, looks like it could be from his son. Dated twenty-four years ago." Morgan handed it to Reid, who took it and read it quickly.

"Good thing you found this before you fell asleep," Reid said with a grin.

"Hey, now. I didn't fall asleep, I was just resting my eyes for a minute."

"Oh, right, the kind of rest that involves snoring, uh-huh."

"Don't give me a hard time, man. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a week." _Thanks to you,_ he thought ruefully.

"Okay, okay. Anyway, yes, this is a letter from his son, saying he's about to become a father himself." Reid looked up at Morgan. "So, maybe there's a grandson."

Morgan already had his phone out. "I'll give Garcia a call and get the lowdown on all three of them."


End file.
